


Now That This Old World Is Ending

by daggerinrose



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Archery, Camping, Cults, Guns, M/M, Smut, Survival, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21549112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daggerinrose/pseuds/daggerinrose
Summary: Needing a good distraction from his broken heart, Louis Tomlinson goes on a camping trip with his friends to Northern England. However, a different kind of distraction arises when his friends disappear from their camp. Hellbent on finding them, Louis soon discovers that the area has been taken over by a cult and teams up with a resentful archer with fire in his eyes and blood on his hands.Far Cry inspired AU
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 82
Kudos: 373
Collections: Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2019





	1. Don’t They Know It’s The End Of The World?

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 239: Far Cry inspired AU, where Louis gets separated from his friends during a camping trip far into the wilderness. He soon discovers that the area has been taken over by a cult, and his friends are in trouble. He bumps into Harry; a resentful archer hunting down cultists. Together they try to get Louis’ friends back, all while slowly falling for each other. Protective!Harry, Scared to Badass!Louis - character arc
> 
> [Trailer](https://thetommmo.tumblr.com/post/189393637748/now-that-this-old-world-is-ending-trailer-coming) \- the story is inspired by Far Cry 5, but don't worry if you aren't familiar with the game, you don't have to be to read this fic :)  
> The title + chapter titles are taken from song titles, they make up a great playlist if you wanna have a listen! 
> 
> I want to thank the mods of BLFF for making this happen, I haven't written in ages and this fest got me into it again, and I forgot how much I love it, so thank you! Also a huuuge thank you to @hadtobelou for spending countless of hours reading over the story over and over, helping me with my grammar and flow, you're a literal angel!
> 
> Trigger warnings (SPOILERS): violence, blood, guns, cheating (not between h&l), scars, wounds, burn marks, death and murder (no main characters), brainwashing

Louis Tomlinson watches intently as the fire crackles, sending a cluster of embers up into the night. A lone ember falls back down, its glow fading as it lands in his lap. He takes a long sip of his beer, and not for the first time today, he feels alone. 

Niall cackles to his left at something Liam just said, but the words go in one of Louis' ears and out the other. The laughter around him warms his chest, though, and he drags his gaze away from the flames to rejoin the conversation.

Liam shoots Louis a look from across the campfire, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t really need to. Louis knows what it means. It’s a silent question, an _"are you okay?"_ , but Louis averts his gaze, not wanting to kill the mood. Camping trips are supposed to be fun.

"Oi, Payno," Niall calls. Louis can still feel Liam’s eyes on him, which is why he’s immensely grateful when Niall tosses a pine cone at Liam to get his attention. 

"What?" Liam asks, a tad disgruntled, brushing dirt away from where the pine cone landed on his jacket. 

"Grab me one of those," Niall says, pointing at the cooler sitting beside Liam. Liam pulls out a beer for Niall, and holds up another one for Louis. Louis’ not finished with the one he has yet, but he accepts the bottle anyway.

"Remember when you promised we were gonna get shit-faced every night this trip?" Niall asks, and it takes Louis a few seconds to register that the question is directed at him.

Louis shrugs. "I intend on keeping that promise, if that’s what you’re asking."

"Good boy," Niall praises, and leans over to clink his bottle with Louis’. "Then drink up."

Louis doesn’t need to be told twice, so he makes a show out of it as he gulps down the rest of his beer in one go. 

Niall whoops. "That’s the Louis I know and love!"

"Fuck off," Louis laughs, before pulling the cap off his second beer with his teeth.

"That’s not good for you," Liam comments, and Louis answers by spitting the cap in his direction. He misses by a mile, which Liam gives him a half-assed applause for.

"You should know all about that," Niall chuckles, eyeing Liam. "Didn’t you chip a tooth trying to get a champagne bottle open during New Year’s Eve once?"

The memory sends a cruel shudder down Louis’ spine, although the story is entertaining in theory. "It wasn’t Liam," Louis says with a surprisingly even tone. He takes a swig before finishing. "It was Ewan."

"Oh," Niall says, before unnecessarily adding, "I thought it was Liam."

It had just turned midnight, and Louis remembers trying to kiss Ewan while the latter was desperately fumbling around on the floor for the missing piece of his tooth. The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, and Louis can still feel how sticky the floor felt under his hands as he searched for his boyfriend’s lips. He got his New Year’s kiss eventually. 

It occurs to Louis that his friends still haven’t said anything, their gazes careful as they watch him drink his beer. Louis doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. "Are we getting drunk, or what?"

"Louis–" Liam starts, but Louis doesn’t want to hear it.

"Didn’t you bring a speaker, Nialler?" Louis asks.

"Hell yeah, I did," Niall answers as jovially as ever, easily letting the topic go. He gets to his feet, and gives Liam a pat on the back as he passes. 

Louis knows Liam well enough to know that he won’t let the subject go that easily, so Louis gives him a reassuring smile. Liam returns it immediately, and Louis hopes that it’s enough for now. 

This year is the first time in three years that Louis’ gone camping with his mates without Ewan, and the empty space next to him makes his stomach churn – in both sorrow and rage. However, he's not going to let his heavy heart ruin the trip. It still stings, but he expected it.

A few moments later, Niall plops back down by the campfire with a boombox, and fiddles with it for only a few seconds before a tune with heavy guitars and angry men yelling about tattoos fills the silence. 

"That’ll scare off the bears, Payno," Niall says, setting the boombox aside in favor of picking up a bag of crisps to munch on.

"There are no bears in England," Liam retorts, yet he shoots Louis a questioning look, like he’s got all the answers. 

Louis grins around his beer. "Careful, Niall. This is gonna keep him up all night."

"Will not," Liam mumbles, but there’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"If that’s the case," Niall starts, pointing his bottle towards Liam. "You ought to drink until you pass out."

Niall’s words inspire all three of them to down their beers, and time stops as they drink the night away. 

Louis in no way prides himself with being able to hold his liquor. He knows he’s a lightweight, always has been. That’s how, three hours and ten pints later – vaguely registering the taste of vodka on his tongue as well, he finds himself knee deep in a pond, god knows how far away from camp.

"Wha’ was I doin’ 'ere again," he slurs to himself, and looks down to find his trousers are unzipped. "Pee?"

He shifts a bit to confirm his suspicions. Yes, he needs to pee. 

He blinks when he’s finished, swaying in place as he wrestles with his zipper. Next thing Louis knows he’s walking through the forest, following the sound of Niall’s guitar. He makes it to the outskirts of their camp, watching with drooping eyes as Liam is standing on a rock singing about the seas and barrels and how the pirate life goes.

It’s calming. Like a lullaby. 

The ground looks soft, and the shrubs look warm. That’s all that matters now, Louis thinks to himself, as he falls down onto the ground. Fleeting feelings of heartbreak, loneliness and utter betrayal disappear like they were never there in the first place, so sleep comes easily.

-

Louis wakes up with dirt in his mouth and leaves in his hair. His leg itches. He looks down to find his lower half sprawled across several stinging nettles. He quickly untangles himself from the stems, cursing and clawing at his skin where he’s been stung.

He knows it’s best not to itch, so he stops his clawing and tries to restrain himself from it as he gets to his feet. Liam never goes hiking without salves for mosquito bites and such, so Louis starts making his way back to camp. 

No one is up yet, it seems. The fire is out, empty beer bottles are scattered around. Liam must have been knackered last night as well, because he wouldn’t usually leave rubbish lying around outside.

Louis walks around the tent to wake the lads up, but stops short when he finds that it’s empty. Come to think of it, Niall is a loud snorer and Louis should have heard him from his bed of nettles.

He scans the forest around the camp, but doesn’t see anyone. "Hello?"

All he can hear are birds chirping and the steady stream of a nearby river. There’s a possibility they went fishing, as that was something Liam had made them promise they would do. 

Louis digs around in his backpack for his phone, figuring he should just call them. 

He dials Niall’s number, but the call doesn’t go through. There’s no service. 

"Seriously?" Louis mutters, and tries calling again just for the sake of it, getting just as frustrated when there still isn’t any service.

He looks around the camp, trying to see if either of them has left a note, or… _anything_ , but all he finds is the exact same stuff that was there yesterday.

His gaze lands on the fishing rods, propped up against the side of the tent where they left them the day before. Louis frowns, letting his gaze wander through the rest of the camp; Liam’s glasses, Niall’s guitar, both pairs of their boots. It takes him a moment to remember that none of them brought a second pair of shoes, and his shoulders jolt at the realization.

"Boys?!" he calls out as his heart starts hammering. "Come out of the fucking woods, I’m not in the mood!"

He waits. If not for a response, at least for a sound. Snickering, the break of a twig, Liam shushing Niall. But there’s nothing. Nothing but the chirps of birds and the burbling river.

Cold all of a sudden, Louis zips up his hoodie. He carefully puts the glasses aside before rummaging through Liam’s backpack for the map he insisted on bringing, and unfolds it out onto the dirty ground.

He scans the map for any nearby towns or buildings. The lads might’ve gone to a restaurant, or someplace else for breakfast. There’s a tiny hamlet near their camp, but it seems too far of a walk for just a burger. Too far without boots. Some squares spread out across the area – cabins. 

There’s a cabin not far from camp, so Louis starts following the dirt road towards it, map in his pocket and phone in his hand. He’ll find some service, he’ll call the boys, and they’ll be on their way again in no time.

It’s something else to walk alone in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by thick forest. Gravel pops like firecrackers under his boots, and the wind fights with the birds about who’s the loudest. His eyes play tricks on him, making him spin his head left and right at every swaying branch, every bird taking off from the ground.

All alone in the forest, his thoughts have room to imagine the most bizarre worst-case scenarios. Liam got hit by lightning, despite the absence of a storm. Niall fell off a cliff, except the vegetation wouldn’t allow it. They got mugged by thieves, but this is not a medieval TV show, and Louis can’t for the life of him understand why they would go for a stroll without their shoes.

Louis allows these thoughts to carry him along the way, just to make time pass. Half an hour away from camp, he spots the log cabin from his map hiding behind an English oak near the dirt road. If Louis’ in luck, someone might be home and can give him directions as to where he could go to get some phone service.

To Louis’ disappointment, the cabin looks eerily empty from the outside – no vehicles, no sheets on the clothes hangers. He walks around the cabin for a closer look, finding the front door ajar.

He clears his throat. "Hello?" 

A beat. No answer. 

Determined, he walks up the stairs to the entrance. He knocks on the doorframe. "Is anyone home?"

When there’s still no answer, he opens the door fully, and is instantly taken aback by his surroundings.

The furniture is knocked over, there’s broken glass, dirt and sand all over the floor. A smashed radio, a crack in the wall.

And despite the sight, it’s the silence that speaks the loudest.

"What the fuck," is all Louis can utter, and takes a few steps inside. His eyes scan the room, landing on a piece of paper pinned to the far wall with a knife. Again, "what the fuck _."_

He walks over to the note, reading it a few times, not really understanding the message.

_There’s nothing to worry about anymore.  
Come out and join us._

Louis takes out his phone, snapping a photo of the note to show the boys later. It seems as though some really creepy people have been here looking for someone. Louis wonders where the owner of the cabin has gone. Have they been back here since? Did they join them? Join them for what?

Louis makes up scenarios regarding the note for the sake of his own sanity. Someone wants the owner to join the neighborhood association in order to find ways to better their lives around the hamlet. Maybe they want to open a fishing shop or plant apple trees by the tourist center.

Yeah, that’s likely, Louis thinks to himself.

Just as Louis is pocketing his phone again, he hears the roar of an engine approaching, followed by car doors slamming shut. He takes a peek out of the window, and jolts away from view almost immediately when he spots what is outside. Two jeeps, five men dressed in jet black uniforms, and guns. 

Not hunting guns, not fucking… water guns. Louis’ almost a hundred percent sure that those were machine guns. Big, black machine guns. He’s been exposed to enough video games to know that. Anyone would know that. And no one goes bird hunting with machine guns.

Louis can’t do anything but hold his breath and stare blankly at the note still pinned to the wall. His eyes wander to the knife holding it in place. His shoulders flinch at the sound of a gun being loaded.

As quietly as he can, he ducks down and starts crawling on his hands and knees towards the knife, pulling it out of the wall with enough force that it makes a noise. A small noise, but a noise nonetheless. 

He stills and listens. He can hear the men talking amongst themselves outside, their words distorted through the thick log walls.

Taking a deep breath, Louis inches towards the window leading behind the cabin, and starts cranking it open. It screeches, and for the first time in his life, Louis thinks he’s actually going to die.

"Did you hear that?" a man says from outside, voice raised enough for Louis to hear.

With his heart in his throat and no time to lose, Louis cranks the window all the way up, not caring about the sounds he’s making anymore. He heaves his body out of the window, and starts running,gripping the knife tight enough that he can feel his own pulse.

"I see him!" someone shouts.

"Get him!" another one orders.

"Fuck," Louis breathes, mouth dry. He jumps over rocks, dodges branches and runs as fast as his feet can carry him.

He expected it, but his heart skips too many beats when bullets are fired. Surprised that no bullets actually hit him, he dares a look back at the men chasing him. They’ve stopped running, and have their guns pointed at Louis’ feet.

They’re not aiming at him, he realizes. They’re trying to slow him down.

But Louis’ not really up for having a chat right now, so he spins back around, picking up his pace, determined to get as far away from them as possible.

Then all of a sudden, someone grabs onto him mid-sprint, dragging him behind a tree. Louis raises his knife, and goes for the man’s abdomen, but his opponent is quicker and grabs Louis’ wrist with one hand, shushing him with the other.

Louis is too bewildered to comprehend what is happening at the moment, everything is happening way too fast. The man grabs onto Louis’ chin, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

The eyes that meet Louis’ don’t hold the same fire as the eyes of the men chasing him. These eyes hold a different kind of fire and it’s not directed at him. Irises as green as the forest, pupils dilated, gaze intense and on alert.

"Stay quiet," the man whispers. His lips are dry and bitten raw. He can’t be much older than Louis, if anything, he’s younger. "And stay down."

Louis can’t do anything but oblige, and squats down in the shrubs. He’s not sure what good this stranger will do until he hears a short whoosh, something flying through the air at an alarming pace, and he looks up. The stranger – dressed in combats and a camouflage zip-up hoodie – drags back his bowstring again, and fires another arrow at the crazy men with machine guns.

Crazy must be common around here, Louis muses, watching in stunned silence as the archer takes down one enemy at a time, without much of an effort. Like it’s as easy as shooting down a bird.

Louis jolts after every swoosh, every thud, every pained groan. He can’t see much from where he’s hiding, except the black of the men’s clothing. One by one they fall in quick succession. Then all of a sudden it’s quiet.

The archer lowers his bow, gesturing for Louis to get up.

"You alright?" he asks, like he didn’t just impale a group of human beings.

Louis looks over at the bodies spread across the ground, machine guns hanging limply from their shoulders. "You… you killed them."

The archer raises a brow. "They would’ve killed you. Eventually."

Louis stares at the man, puzzled. "What–" he’s speechless. Too much is happening, much too quickly.

The man is patient as Louis struggles to find his words. "They’re tranquilized."

"So… not dead?"

The archer shakes his head. "Not yet, anyway," he says, and starts walking towards the unconscious men before Louis has time to react.

Louis watches as the archer turns the bodies over, pulling down their collars. He’s looking for something on the back of their necks. What that is, Louis’ not sure. 

Before Louis can ask, the archer starts explaining. "If they’re not marked, they’re not here by choice. It’s only the core members of the family I want to see dead. They’re the true danger. Not these men. They’re innocent."

Louis mulls over the information. Eventually he asks "Did you find anything?"

"No. Let’s go," the archer says, hooking the bow across his shoulder.

"Wait," Louis says. "Are you just gonna leave them? Shouldn’t we call the police?"

A short laugh is what he gets in reply, making Louis feel as though he's incredibly stupid.

"What?"

"You’re not from around here, are you," the archer muses more than asks. "I’m Harry."

"Louis, cheers," Louis replies dumbly, shaking Harry’s outreached hand tentatively. 

"Pleasure," Harry says. He’s got this look in his eyes, like he’s trying to figure Louis out. Like Louis is completely out of place. Which, to be fair, he is. "Come on. We need to get out of here before others arrive. I have a place."

Louis blinks. "I’m… I can’t."

"You can’t?" Harry looks at him funnily again. "You’d rather stay here then?"

"No, I mean," Louis starts, fumbling for words. Of bloody course he doesn’t want to stay here. He wants to get the hell out as fast as he can, but… "I’m looking for my friends. They weren’t at our camp this morning when I woke up, and I thought maybe they had taken a walk or something."

Harry’s features soften a bit. "I’m sorry to tell you, but people tend to disappear around here."

"That doesn’t mean they have," Louis insists. "I gotta look for them."

"Alright," Harry says, adding, "we’ll look for them together."

Louis isn’t sure he wants to accept help from this complete stranger. But what if the men come back? Louis wouldn’t stand a chance against them, and he knows that. His chances of survival – no matter how fucked up it sounds – are probably best alongside the archer with fire in his eyes and blood on his hands.

So Louis nods, letting Harry lead the way through the woods. 

Louis makes note of how alert Harry is, how mindfully he chooses his steps. If Louis closed his eyes he wouldn't even be able to tell he was here, due to the ghost-quiet movements. He catches sight of bruises on his knuckles, and a scar peeking out from his shirt at the base of his neck. Louis wonders how far down his back the scar goes. He wants to ask what happened.

But he stays silent, and does his best to copy Harry’s movements so he won’t make too much noise. It’s hard because they’re moving too quickly and Louis doesn’t notice the twig until it’s too late, breaking under his boot. Harry doesn’t seem to mind, so Louis reckons they’re in the clear and that Harry’s just used to being this cautious. Almost like it’s ingrained in his bones.

Harry stops walking, so Louis does the same. 

"What?" Louis asks, eyes and ears alert.

Harry turns his head to look at Louis, a smirk playing on his lips. "You hungry?"

Louis gives him a quizzical look as an answer. 

Harry nods once, the small smile disappearing from his lips as he carefully removes the bow from his shoulder and pulls an arrow from his quiver, eyes focused on a target somewhere in front of him. "Don’t make a sound."

Louis’ gaze follows the direction Harry’s arrow is pointed, and sees the squirrel on the ground a second before the arrow slashes through its tiny body.

"Shit," Louis gasps, hand flying up to his heart.

Harry snorts, and goes to pick the dead squirrel up from the ground. Arrow straight through its neck. 

"Shit," Louis repeats. "That was… Yeah, that was– that was really something."

"We gotta eat, don’t we?" Harry says, squirrel hanging limp in his hand, its fluffy tail stained with blood. 

Louis can’t help feeling bad for the little guy. "I guess."

"Good. Come on."

Louis considers letting Harry know that he’s got some food back at the camp that they could take instead, but he suspects Harry would find that ridiculous. Louis suddenly feels like such a city boy, and it’s bothering him more than it should.

He spends the rest of the walk convinced the dead squirrel is staring at him.

They reach what looks like an old shed. The wooden walls look close to rotten, a window is broken, like it hasn’t had any maintenance for a long time. Unless you know to look for it, the tiny building is hard to spot.

Louis follows Harry to the door, and Harry stops to knock once. A few seconds later he gives it another knock and pulls the handle down, gesturing for Louis to follow him inside.

"You’re back early." Louis jumps at the unfamiliar voice.

Harry gives Louis’ shoulder a squeeze. "Relax."

Louis’s eyes find the owner of the unfamiliar voice sitting with his feet up on the table to his left. He’s got dark hair about the same length as Harry’s, swooped neatly into a quiff. The new stranger speaks again. "Who’s this?"

Before Louis has time to respond, something metallic flashes past him and hits the wall with a puncturing thud. Louis jumps again, staring in horror at the knife pinned to the wall not even an inch from his face.

"Leave him alone," Harry says, but there’s no heat in his voice. "He’s had a rough morning."

The stranger laughs, picking up another knife from the table. He turns it around in his hands, eyes fixed on Louis. "Rough morning, you say?"

Louis nods dumbly, then shrugs. Today has been a lot.

"Louis this is Zayn. Zayn, meet Louis," Harry quickly introduces the two men to each other. "I got us a squirrel."

"That you did," Zayn replies with amusement on his face, eyes still not leaving Louis. 

Louis should feel more offended, but he can’t find the energy for it. 

"I like your shed," Louis says. 

"I like your knife," Zayn retorts. Louis had almost forgotten about his knife, still clutched tightly in his hand. 

Louis fiddles with it. "Thanks."

Harry’s skinning the squirrel on a workbench in the far corner of the room, the sound making Louis’ stomach roil. 

"Do you know how to use it?" Zayn asks, eyeing the knife. 

Louis blinks. "On vegetables, yeah."

Harry snorts from his corner, but doesn’t turn away from the task at hand. 

"That won’t get you very far through these woods," Zayn tells him. His eyebrows are pulled slightly together, like he’s dealing with a child who doesn’t understand why he shouldn’t put sand in his mouth. Louis finds it patronizing.

"Right. ‘Cause of the machine gun guys," Louis says. "Harry said not to kill them, though."

"There are a lot of ways to stab a man without killing him." A beat. "I can teach you if you want."

Louis shakes his head. "No thanks."

Zayn turns towards Harry. "He’s not from around here, is he?" he says, just like Harry had stated earlier. Like not wanting to stab people is completely out of the ordinary. Louis doesn’t understand.

"What’s going on here?" Louis asks. "Seriously."

Harry finally turns away from his chopped up squirrel, drying his hands off on his trousers. "Your friends have most likely been taken, or saved as they would call it, by a group of people that refer to themselves as the Family."

"Freed," Zayn supplies dryly. "Sent off to the path to ultimate freedom."

Louis feels uneasy. He doesn’t know if he’s talking to lunatics or if they’re being serious. "Are you sure?"

"We’re sure," Zayn says. His features have hardened in the past few seconds. "I’ve been there. Harry’s mum is still in there. And your friends too, most likely."

Louis walks over to the table, trying to make the words fit together in his head, like pieces of a puzzle. He pulls out a chair and sits down. "So it’s like a prison," he states.

"Something like that," Zayn settles on after a moment, a sad smile resting on his lips.

Harry sits down as well. He rests his hands on the table, and takes a moment before he speaks. "It started out as a small community. They rented a cabin close to the hamlet. Nothing unusual about it, really. 

"They would get their groceries at the local shop, like everyone else. Sometimes have a pint at the restaurant, like people do. They were friendly, polite. When they asked me and my mum if they could use our restaurant after hours for gatherings, we said yes. They were grateful, and told us they would use it for hosting their meditation sessions."

He laughs bitterly, picking up another one of Zayn’s knives from the table. "Some of the locals joined in, and kept going to sessions every night. Said it was life changing. My mum joined their gatherings as well, after hearing a friend of hers recommend it.

"One night at dinner she just started crying. When I asked her what was wrong, she just froze. Like she had done something she shouldn’t have."

Harry’s face is downcast, his eyes focused on the knife in his hands. He drags a finger across the blade. "I asked her again, ‘what’s wrong, mum,’ but she just shook her head, almost frantically. This went on for days. She wouldn’t speak to me, wouldn’t look me in the eye. So I kept on working shifts at the restaurant during the day, and would go up to our flat one floor above in the evening. I had no idea what was going on just below my feet. No fucking clue."

Zayn’s sitting as still as a statue beside Harry, his eyes glued to the wall behind Louis. 

"What was it?" Louis asks quietly after a pause. 

Harry meets Louis’ gaze for just a second before refocusing on the knife. "Turns out they weren’t meditating at all. Zayn had been going to the sessions, and came up to me one night and told me I had to get the fuck out of there."

Louis frowns, and looks over to see Zayn biting his lip, his brows furrowed.

Zayn sits up straighter in his chair. "At my first gathering, we were sitting around in a circle cross-legged on the floor. In the middle sat a bearded man. He wore a robe, loose trousers. There was something fascinating about him, in the way he would smile at you, the way he used his hands when he spoke. He made sure to greet everyone, look everyone in the eye, and made us all feel welcome. Made us feel special. 

"They call him the Creator. He’s charming, kind, inviting. But don’t let that fool you. That man is ruthless."

Louis crosses his arms, a chill rolling down his spine. Zayn refuses to break eye contact with Louis. There’s that fire again, the same Harry had in his eyes earlier. Ordering him to listen. Begging him to understand.

Zayn continues. "In his sessions, he spoke of freedom. About absolute and total freedom. According to him, we were nothing but old gum beneath someone else’s shoes. We were expendable. But not to him. To him we were his Family. His brothers and sisters. And it was his mission to save us from the world as it was, and create a new one. Hence his nickname."

"That doesn’t sound so bad," Louis says tentatively, though he knows there’s more to the story. From the strain in Harry’s face to the slight quiver in Zayn’s voice, he knows the story has a dark backside.

"In theory, no," Zayn agrees. "Practically, though… the Creator wants to change the world. That doesn’t come without sacrifice. It doesn’t come without bloodshed."

Louis swallows down his nausea. "Change the world into what, exactly? What kinds of changes?"

"A world free of judgement. A world filled with harmony and joy and love. A world with no laws holding you back," Zayn says.

Louis raises a brow. "Ambitious."

"Impossible," Zayn corrects. "The Creator knew that, but he would give his life to make it happen. So he went against his values and made three ground rules. These three rules are their law."

Zayn holds up one finger. "First rule; you respect your Family – your brothers and sisters are your equals. Second rule," second finger, "you are to contribute to the Family. Whether you’re fit to be a cook, a medic, a hunter. You will find your place, and you will give your life to the cause."

Zayn puts down his hand, and leans back. "Now for the fucked up part. The reason why these cultists need to be stopped. The reason why you need to learn how to use your goddamn knife."

On cue, Louis feels the weight of the knife in his hand again. He imagines it being bloody already, and his nausea won’t go away. "The third rule?"

For the first time in a while Harry shifts in his seat. He flings the throwing knife at the wall behind Louis. "Leave the Family and you’re dead."

Louis’ not sure if it’s the knife hitting the wall that makes his shoulders jolt, or if it’s Harry’s words. "So the men from earlier with the machine guns, they were cultists? They were a part of this family?"

Harry nods jerkily. "Recruits. They aren’t there by choice, but they know the consequences if they say or do the wrong thing. That’s why my mum got so frantic when I asked her what was wrong. Everyone in the Family watches each other closely, and if someone even says a single bad word about the cause, the cult considers it as them wanting to leave the Family. So they execute them. It’s how they avoid an uprising."

Louis pales, thinking about Niall and Liam. If Zayn and Harry are correct, his friends are with the cultists now. Probably getting their heads filled with promises of freedom and happiness, though in truth they aren’t free at all. 

Louis scoots his chair back, getting to his feet. "I gotta go."

Zayn and Harry are quick to follow suit.

"Go where?" Zayn asks, an angry frown on his face. "Did you not listen to a word we said?"

"If my friends have been kidnapped by fucking cultists, I’m not gonna sit around and wait for them to get killed. I’m not gonna do that," Louis exclaims. He wonders if they can see the fire in his eyes now, too.

"Look, I know I said I’d help you," Harry says. "But what’s your plan, exactly? March into the hamlet with that knife of yours and slash aimlessly? You need to be smart about this."

Louis stares. "Come with me then. You’re not bad with the bow, and Zayn knows how to throw a knife."

"Don’t be stupid," Zayn says. 

"Zayn," Harry warns, pausing, turning back to Louis. "We want to get them just as much as you do, Louis. We’ve tried and failed. The reality is that those cultists are armed to the fucking teeth, they train for this everyday, and they outnumber us. We have three people. They have 150."

"We don’t stand a chance," Zayn declares. 

Louis sighs in frustration. "We’ll need to get some back-up then, won’t we? Get the police up here, or I don’t know, the fucking military, maybe?"

Harry shakes his head. "They won’t help us."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because the last time someone came to help us, the entire squad was killed," Harry says. "Instead they’ve put up roadblocks, not letting anyone get in or out of here by vehicle. They’ve cut us off from the outside completely, and left us to fend for ourselves."

The fury in Louis' voice is evident. "What?"

"It’s true."

Louis doesn’t want to give up. There has to be a way. "There has to be a way," he says out loud.

Harry steps around the table, stopping in front of Louis. "We’ll find a way. What do you think Zayn and I have been doing all this time?"

Louis looks down at his knife. "Trying to find a way."

Harry nods. "Yeah. So don’t think we’ve just been sitting around waiting for our own friends and families to get killed. Cause we haven’t."

Louis sighs. "I know. I’m sorry."

It’s suffocating. Louis really hates not knowing where his friends are – if they’re okay. 

"Can we at least go back to the camp and see if they might have returned?" Louis asks after a moment, clinging to the tiniest bit of hope that’s still left. He can’t know for sure that Niall and Liam have been taken, and that’s helping him keep his head straight. 

Harry hesitates for a moment, then nods once. He turns to Zayn. "Finish off the squirrel, will you? We won’t be long."

Zayn stares for a moment, but gives up and nods. Zayn doesn’t look as hopeful as Louis feels about finding his friends. But that doesn’t matter until it’s proven otherwise. 

Harry pulls the bow over his shoulder. He eyes the knife in Louis’ hand for a second before walking over to a wooden crate by the wall and starts to rummage through it. After a moment he pulls out a slingshot. The shaft is metal, and the black rubber band is thick. It’s nothing like the slingshot Louis used to shoot grapes with when he was a boy.

Harry hands it to Louis. "It’s not as complicated as a knife. Pick up a rock and shoot it. Steadier than a bow, stealthier than a gun."

Louis turns the weapon over in his hand, inspecting it. "Deadly?"

"Depends on where you aim," Harry says. "Knocks ‘em out more than it splits their skull open."

Louis feels relieved at that. "Good. Let’s go."

"Good luck," Zayn offers. He’s genuine, less fired up than earlier, and Louis appreciates it.

Louis gives him a tiny smile. "Thanks."

Harry and Louis step outside. Louis can hear Zayn locking the door behind them. There’s also another sound in the distance, one Louis heard up close earlier.

Gunshots, echoes ricocheting through the trees.

"Target practice," Harry supplies. "Most likely."

Maybe Harry’s trying to ease Louis’ nerves, or maybe he knows it’s target practice because he knows their routines. Louis doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want to think about it, either, even though there’s a voice in his head screaming at him that Niall and Liam might be at the other end of those barrels.

He pushes the thought away for as long as he knows there’s a chance they might have returned to the camp. They’re safe, they’re safe, they’re safe.

So Louis nods, and starts walking in the opposite direction, away from the gunshots.


	2. In The Forest Hides A Light

The sound of gunfire dissipated long ago, and has been replaced by soft wind sizzling through branches, making the leaves flutter. Louis has been practicing his slingshot on the way to the camp, picking up rock after rock and slinging them deep into the forest. His aim isn’t half bad. He’s focusing on trying to reload faster.

Harry watches him, giving him a few tips where it’s due. Like ‘hold your elbow higher, control your breath, pull the band back further.’ Louis clings to every word, and does as he’s told.

When they near the camp, Louis picks up as many rocks as he can, stuffing them into his pocket in case they run into trouble. Harry readies his bow.

Harry moves through the shadows of the trees, Louis following suit as best as he can. He sharpens his ears, trying to hear if there’s trouble up ahead, but it’s quiet.

"Can you see anything?" Louis whispers when Harry stops and crouches down. 

"No," Harry whispers back. 

Louis squats down next to Harry, and focuses his eyes towards the camp. All their stuff is still there, the tent is still up. Everything is just how he left it this morning. Empty.

"They’re not here," Louis says, and loses the little hope he has left. 

He starts to stand up, but Harry drags him back down quickly. "Don’t move," he warns.

Louis frowns, following Harry’s line of sight. Moving into the camp from one side are two men dressed in black, but not the same men from before. A beat later, three other men move into view from the other side of the camp.

Louis freezes, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. Harry is also frozen in place, but his shoulders are more relaxed. He’s obviously used to this.

The men approach the burnt-out campfire, shaking their heads at each other. 

"Nothing," one of the men says.

"Did you check by the river?" another one asks.

"He’s not here," the first man says again. 

Louis’ heart hammers. "What are they looking for?" he asks as quietly as he can, though he thinks he might know the answer.

Harry gives Louis a look, and there’s something like an apology in his eyes, confirming Louis’ theory.

They’re looking for him.

And if they’re looking for him here, it means they have Niall and Liam. It means they’ve made his friends tell them if anyone else was with them on their camping trip. Or maybe the cultists put the pieces together themselves. There might be only one tent, but there are three backpacks. Louis hopes it’s the latter, not wanting to think about the first possibility.

They sit in absolute silence while the men look through Louis’ things. The fury is rising in his chest, and it takes all his strength not to run out of the shadows and start throwing punches. But he stays put, stays hidden, and waits with Harry.

After a while the men spread out, moving away from the camp. 

Louis starts to get up as well, but once again gets pulled down by Harry. "Wait. They could still hear us."

So they wait. Harry’s eyes are so focused on the surroundings that Louis begins to wonder if he’s even breathing. His sight darts left and right, but his body stays completely frozen in place. 

Just as Louis thinks it’s time to move, something clicks behind him, and his heart leaps into his throat.

And as quick as the click of the gun was, Harry moves. He kicks his leg back in one swift movement before swinging his elbow back just as fast. The gunman is hit in the jaw with a sickening blow, and falls forward. Harry catches the unconscious body before it makes too much of a sound hitting the ground.

"Over here!" someone yells. 

Harry pushes the man’s gun toward Louis, and Louis fumbles to pick it up. "Aim for the knees."

Louis puts his slingshot in his back pocket. He feels dizzy and is overly aware of the boots galloping towards them. Harry grabs his arm and yanks him up and away, and they start running in the opposite direction of the men, which now is the camp.

Open, nowhere to hide. The men come in from every angle, forcing them to the spot by the campfire. 

"Fuck," Harry curses, drawing his bow. He's using the same arrows as he had earlier. "There’s only five of them, Louis. We’ve got this."

Louis readies his gun. At least he thinks he is, considering he’s never fired one before. Is it loaded? Is the safety on? He has no idea, but pointing it seems like a good place to start.

He points his gun at the feet of one of the men, and fires. The force knocks him back a bit, and he misses the legs by a mile.

"Put your weapons down," the man orders, his own gun pointed towards Louis’ feet, mirroring his actions. Strange thing, Louis thinks, how they’re shooting at each other yet neither’s intention is to kill the other person. 

The man shoots a warning shot. Louis jolts back, but Harry stays put. 

"You first," Harry says, bow steadily raised.

Another man takes a step forward, his posture more relaxed than the others. "We don’t want you to go running away now, do we?"

Harry changes his aim towards the man speaking. 

The man laughs half-heartedly, and turns toward one of the other men by his left. "Fiery, that one, isn’t he?"

That’s when Louis spots the mark on the back of the man’s neck. It’s a circular burn mark, about the size of a coin, but it’s hard to miss it, the mark fiery red. What did Harry say earlier? He only wants to take down the marked ones?

Louis glances at Harry and sees that he spotted the mark, too, and quickly switches his tranquilizing arrow with another one, drawing his bow further back.

"Drop the bow!" one of the other men yells, and another warning shot is fired.

"Harry," Louis warns, seeing the men moving closer. 

And out of the blue, something explodes so close to the camp that Louis feels the force of the blow from where he stands, but not enough to knock him off his feet. It’s enough for Harry to make a move, though, and he fires his arrow straight through the cultist’s heart, before changing arrows once again and starts shooting down the others.

Louis shakes himself out of his haze, the fire from the explosion irritating his sight and hearing, and he starts shooting towards the men’s feet. He misses everyone, but it’s enough to keep them occupied before the tranquilizing arrows hit them in their legs, their backs, their shoulders. 

It all goes by so quickly, yet at the same time, so slowly. The flames start spreading in the grass in slow motion. It feels like there are a lot more than five people attacking them, when it really isn’t. 

When Louis can’t hear anymore guns being fired, or anymore bodies dropping, he falls to his knees. His hands shake so hard that he accidentally lets go of his gun in the process, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Harry got them all.

"We gotta go, Louis," someone emphasizes, and grabs his arm. The hand feels familiar, and Louis allows it to steer him past the flames and towards the forest. 

"You alright?" the voice asks while they run, but Louis doesn’t respond. He’s suddenly stopped in his tracks, with one familiar hand on each of his shoulders. "Louis?"

Louis looks up and meets Harry’s eyes. Sweat is prickling on his forehead. Louis opens his mouth, then closes it. After a few tries he finds his words. "There was an explosion."

"You’re welcome, by the way," another familiar voice says, and Louis turns to see that Zayn has joined them. How long has he been here?

"It was you," Louis says dumbly. 

Zayn flashes a smile. "Dynamite, baby."

"How did you know–"

"I followed you," Zayn cuts off. "Sorry, Haz, but I had a feeling the new kid would do something stupid."

Harry gives Zayn a sour stare. "He didn’t."

Louis’ not sure why that helps with his panic, but it does. He isn’t completely useless in a shootout. That’s really something to put on his résumé.

Zayn contemplates that information for a bit, before shrugging and walking again. Harry gives Louis’ arm a reassuring squeeze before he starts walking as well. Louis can’t do anything but follow, with a reverb of the explosion ringing in his ears, and the ghost of Harry’s hand warm on his skin. 

-

Louis sits cross-legged in the grass outside the shed after forcing himself to eat at least half of the roasted squirrel Zayn had cooked. He’s got his slingshot in his hands, and is fiddling with the rubber band.

The sun has gone down. Louis thinks about his friends. Are they unharmed? Are they as scared as he is?

He picks up a rock, drawing it back in the slingshot, and fires it towards the deep, dark woods. He can’t see where it lands.

"You should sleep."

Louis looks over his shoulder to see Harry standing there. He looks tired as well.

"I’m not sure I can," Louis says.

Harry gives him an apologetic smile. "I couldn’t either in the beginning."

Louis mirrors his smile, chest aching a bit. He watches as Harry sits down next to him, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"I used to hunt with my father," Harry says. "Before he and my mum split. He taught me how to use the bow, how to stay in the shadows. I guess that’s come in handy now."

It’s quieter out now than it was during the day. The forest is sleeping.

"You’re really good at it," Louis offers lamely. 

Harry snorts. "Thanks. You’re getting better with the slingshot."

"Yeah, I’m a natural, aren’t I?" Louis flashes Harry a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He hunches his shoulders a bit. "Wish I didn’t have to learn how to use it, though."

"There are other alternatives, if you want. Got a pretty badass shovel hidden around here somewhere," Harry says, looking around.

Louis can’t help the small laugh that escapes his lips. "I’d be invincible, wouldn’t I?"

"You would."

A pause. "What I meant, though," Louis continues. "Is that I wish this wasn’t actually happening, you know? Me and the lads took a week off work like we do every year, and we go camping. This was supposed to be the same as it was last year. We were gonna get drunk every night, go skinny dipping in off the grid lakes, and I would force Liam to eat a pine cone, you know?"

Harry purses his lips, hiding a smile. "Sounds like fun."

"But this year everything just went… unimaginably wrong. Like, what are the fucking chances that we walked straight into a cult lair?"

Harry cocks his head. "Slight, I’d say."

"Very," Louis agrees, giving Harry a tight lipped smile. A breeze picks up, making Harry fuss with his hair when it gets in his eyes. 

Louis bites his lip, choosing his next words carefully. "At least you’re here."

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but Louis rushes to continue, finding the sentence awkward on its own. "I mean– like… I’m glad you didn’t shoot an arrow through my heart and, you know… I’m grateful for your help."

Harry snickers, before his face morphs into a more serious expression. "I’m glad I met you too, Louis."

Louis looks away, suddenly shy. Such ernest honesty is something Louis’ not used to. He’s perfectly fine with the superficiality he’s grown accustomed to in his years living in London. London feels like a whole different world now. 

"You ever been to London, Harry?" he asks.

"I’m not a caveman," Harry snorts. "Of course I have. My sister lives there, so I visit her a lot. Or I used to, you know, before all this." He makes a lazy gesture with his hand towards the forest. 

"How long has it been?" Louis asks.

Harry thinks for a moment. "About eight months, give or take. That’s when the road blocks came up, anyway. Shortly after, the cultists cut the power and jammed the signal, so there’s no way for me to reach my sister anymore."

"I’m sorry," Louis murmurs. 

"It’s probably for the best. I still had a chance to warn her about what was going on up here. Got into quite a heated argument, because she wanted to come get us. By then it was too late, though, my mum had been recruited. So I made my sister a promise that I would get me and mum out. I intend to keep that promise." 

Louis hums, chewing on the information for a while. "I still don’t understand why no one is willing to help. Surely they could send another squad, or helicopters or… anything really."

Harry shrugs. "Guess there’s bigger things to worry about than an isolated hamlet in Northern England."

"They’re waiting it out," Louis states bitterly. 

"It’s a waste of resources," Harry agrees. "If the cult expands, that’s when the real problem starts. For now though, the officials choose to see it as a community gone a bit rough."

Louis raises his brows. "A bit."

"You only see what they want you to see," Harry explains. "It’s happening all over the world. Some things make it to the media, other things don’t."

Louis stares, caught up in something Harry said. "Media," he says. "Why haven’t you posted about this? You could upload a video or–"

Harry interrupts. "No wifi, remember?"

"At all?"

Harry purses his lips. "Well… Except of course right in the rats nest, but it would be impossible to get in unnoticed. Or out, for that matter."

Louis shakes his head. "I don’t believe in impossible anymore. I’ve fought cultists and witnessed a squirrel get arrowed through the neck today. An archer saved my life, an explosion saved my life. Me and my friends landed ourselves in an area that’s been closed for eight months.

If all those things can happen in one day, surely we can sneak into cultist territory and borrow some wifi without much hassle."

Harry smiles, his eyes sparkling. "You’re a breath of fresh air, you know. So hopeful."

Louis hangs his head. "Am I being naive?"

"Not at all," Harry says earnestly. "We’ll look into it in the morning, yeah?"

Louis smiles. "Yeah."

They sit in silence after that, watching the clouds drift past the moon. At least the sky’s the same, Louis thinks. No matter whatever hell he find himself in, the moon is always there, looking down. It’s a comforting thought. 

Louis glances at Harry. The moonlight falls on his cheek, making it look like porcelain. The wind is still playing with his hair, but Harry’s given up trying to keep it out of his face, allowing it to tickle his skin. Louis spots another scar, just below Harry’s ear. It’s thin, and about a centimeter long. There’s almost something beautiful about it, how it shines under the night sky.

Harry moves his head, and Louis quickly looks away. It takes him two tries to refocus on the moon. A dark cloud is moving towards it, threatening to stop it from shining.

"Are you cold?" Harry asks.

Louis looks at him, shaking his head. "Nah, I’m good."

"Your shoulders are shaking," Harry points out.

Louis tilts his head. "Might be because the world is going up in flames around us and no one is coming to save us. Or it might be the squirrel we ate."

A warm hand carefully lands on his shoulder, then, stilling him. He glances at Harry again, finding he’s watching him. 

"We’ll be fine," Harry promises.

Louis looks for some proof of that in Harry’s eyes. It might not be proof that he finds, but there is something there. Hope mixed with reassurance for the both of them.

Harry lets his hand fall, clearing his throat. "We really should get some sleep, though."

Louis nods, but doesn’t get up just yet. There is something that has been stuck in his mind, and now is as good a time as any to ask. "How do you do it? Kill someone."

A beat. "What do you mean?"

"That man today, with the mark on his neck. You killed him." There’s no judgement in Louis’ voice, just curiosity. "I don’t think I could’ve done it."

Harry thinks for a moment, biting his lip. "You’d be surprised what you’re capable of doing when you have no other choice. Of course it would be better if they got arrested and put before a judge, but that’s not happening here. I can’t see what else to do."

"I understand," Louis says softly. "But how can it not destroy you?"

Louis thinks he might have said the wrong thing when Harry doesn’t answer at first. He’s about to reformulate his question when Harry speaks. "I try to see it from another perspective. If that man from today lived, it wouldn’t take long before he hurt someone again. Or killed an innocent. If I hadn’t stopped him, he might have killed you eventually. And that burden would be a lot worse to carry than the one I have now. My choice to take him down today was simply the lesser of two evils." 

Louis hums understandably, glancing over at Harry. "Thank you for telling me." 

Harry gazes back, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Of course."

The moonlight has left Harry’s cheek. Louis searches the sky with his eyes, finding that the cloud from before has swallowed the moon whole.

He doesn’t go to sleep until the moon returns.


	3. The Times They Are A-Changin’

Louis is the last to wake the next morning. He’d been sleeping on the floor, a dirty blanket keeping him warm throughout the night. Rays of sunlight filter through the cracks of the door. It would have been more fitting if it was raining. Sunshine doesn’t exactly scream danger.

He sits up, cracking his back and rubbing his eyes.

As he gets to his feet he can hear Harry and Zayn talking quietly outside, so he follows their voices, exiting the shed. 

"Morning," Harry says, sitting cross-legged in the grass. He’s munching on some blueberries from a cup in his lap. 

"Morning," Louis responds. "What time is it?"

Harry looks up at the sky. "Around seven. Are you hungry?"

He offers Louis the cup of berries before Louis can reply. His stomach is growling, and he’s not sure how a few berries is going to solve that problem.

Harry must see his frown. "Zayn’s gonna go check on the fishing net in a minute. Hopefully we’ll get us a real breakfast."

"I’m fine with berries," Louis lies, chewing said berry. 

Zayn snorts from his spot, leaning against the shed. "I’m seriously craving pizza."

Harry moans in reply. "Melted cheese, man. How I miss melted cheese."

Louis stares as Harry closes his eyes, licking his lips around an imaginary bite of pizza, and he suddenly feels like he’s invading his privacy. He averts his eyes.

"No joke, I’d literally kill for some greasy fucking food," Zayn says. 

That makes Louis remember something. "Me and the lads have some food at our camp. Proper greasy. I think Liam packed some bacon as well."

Harry gets to his feet so fast that Louis startles a bit. "What?"

Louis nods, feeling smug. Maybe being a city boy isn’t that bad, it seems. "Bacon, sausages. Crisps. Got it all in a cooler in the tent, yeah. Unless it got caught in the fire yesterday, that is."

"Zayn," is all Harry says.

Zayn looks almost entranced, kicking his leg off the wall and moving forward. "On it."

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever witnessed a reaction like this to bacon. It all reaches a peak when Harry falls towards Louis with open arms, embracing him in a bone-crushing hug. 

"I think we’ve been sent an angel, Zayn," Harry calls over Louis’ shoulder, not letting go.

Louis is stock-still for a moment, before clapping Harry’s back in return. He smells like pine needles and wet grass. "It’s only bacon, Harry."

Harry withdraws from the hug, his eyes shining with joy. "I know, I know. It’s just been so long."

Louis laughs, watching as a dimple is struggling to let go of Harry’s cheek. "It’s better than squirrels," Louis offers.

"To be honest I hate squirrels," Harry confesses. "Tastes like absolute horse shit compared to what I’m used to."

Louis won’t argue about that. "Shouldn’t we go with Zayn?"

"I thought we should go over your plan while he’s out."

Louis’ lost for a moment before he remembers yesterday’s conversation. "About contacting the media?"

Harry nods, and gestures for Louis to follow him inside. Harry walks straight over to a shelf and looks for something with his finger. A moment later he picks a pamphlet out, handing it to Louis.

Louis unfolds it to find that it’s a map of the area, like the one he has, except this one has handwriting all over it. A big red circle around the hamlet, some smaller red circles spread across other areas with cabins.

Harry points at the circles. "These are the areas where the cultists have settled. The hamlet," Harry points at the biggest circle, "is their base camp. This is where we need to go to get to the wifi. The other area is where they store supplies. The hunters rest in these cabins, as well."

"Hunters?" Louis asks, eyeing the smaller circles. There are eight of them, and one of them is not far from where his camp was. 

"They’re the ones that we took out yesterday. Their job is to scavenge for resources, or you know, people. Good at hunting animals, as well."

Louis frowns. "Aren’t these just ordinary people? Why are they so skilled?"

"It’s just stuff they gotta learn if they want to help their cause. Or stay alive too, I guess, given they have no choice in helping the cause."

"And the cause is to build a better world?" 

Harry takes the map out of Louis’ hands, laying it on the table. "You paid attention in class."

Louis shrugs. "This class, at least," he smiles.

Harry mirrors his smile. "What were you doing in the city?"

"In London?" Louis asks, thrown off by the subject change.

"Yeah. Are you studying, or…?"

Louis blinks. "Um. I’m a photographer, actually. Freelance."

"An artist," Harry adds.

"Not so much." Louis breathes a laugh. "It’s mostly weddings, real estate and baby pictures."

Harry’s eyes widen. "Babies? I love babies."

Yet another thing that makes this deadly archer too soft to hold such a title. Babies. He loves babies. "You’re a goof. Seriously."

"What?" Harry says, a smile bleeding through his pout.

"Christ, Harold." Louis is caught off guard at how endeared he is by the other man. If Louis had no hands, he could count on his fingers how many men he’s slashed at with a knife and still wanted to be around them afterwards. That’s zero. Not that he’s slashed a knife at that many people. Or any, except Harry that is.

Louis drags a chair out, sitting down. "And you? You mentioned you worked at a restaurant with your mother."

"Yeah, I did," Harry says, averting his eyes. "Loved it. Wasn’t much traffic there, though. Except during the high seasons, you know."

Louis studies him for a moment. His smile is not as vibrant now, and his dimple is barely hanging onto his cheek. "Do you miss it?"

Harry nods, eyes focusing on the map. His face shifts into something like determination. "No point in crying about it now, though. We’re getting it back."

He meets Louis’ eyes dead on. Louis’ never felt particularly courageous, or brave like Harry. But he’s starting to. "Better get planning, then."

Harry grabs a notebook and a pen from the shelf before taking a seat next to Louis. "Let’s start with getting evidence. If we’re going to contact the media, we’ll need something to grab their attention. And I doubt they’ll believe us if we don’t have pictures to back up the story."

"Or videos," Louis adds. He takes his phone out of his pocket, checking it before putting it on the table. "It has enough battery to take some photos and videos. I’ll turn it off until we need it."

Harry nods, scribbling something down onto the paper. "We’d have to get close to the cult, though. So I’m thinking if we paid the outposts a visit – the smaller circles on the map, – we could get some footage from a safe distance."

Louis thinks for a moment. "I don’t think that’ll be enough. We need to get their attention. If they start shooting, that’s when we get the footage we need."

"Get right in there, you mean?" Harry asks, sounding surprised. "I like how you think."

Louis cocks his head. "You’d be surprised what people would do to get that perfect shot. Besides, they won’t actually shoot us, will they?"

"They might. But they won’t kill us, no. The Creator will give us a chance to join the Family before that happens."

Louis raises a brow. "Generous man."

"But it won’t come to that," Harry says. "We’ll have to split up. Two of us will go in there and get the footage we need, another one will cover from a safe distance."

"You should be the one covering. The bow has a good range, and they won’t see you coming," Louis says. 

Harry drags a hand through his hair, thinking. "That means you’ll have to go in."

Louis shrugs. "I’m the photographer, remember? Zayn can cover for me up close if it comes to that."

"Maybe we’ll only need one person in the outpost," Harry suggests. "You should stay with me."

"No, I’d be useless." Louis doesn’t want that. He wants to contribute. "How is Zayn supposed to get good footage and defend himself at the same time?"

Harry blinks. "He’s agile."

Louis snorts, crossing his arms. "I’m going with him."

Harry opens his mouth to argue, but just then the door opens. Zayn walks in with Louis’ cooler in one hand, his backpack in the other. He puts the backpack down by Louis’ feet, before lifting the cooler onto the table.

"I come bearing gifts," Zayn announces. Harry gets to his feet as Zayn lifts the lid off the cooler, revealing packs of bacon, sausages, burgers and beer.

Harry peeks into the box, eyes wide. "That’s a lot of food."

"And there’s more," Zayn says, picking up the backpack and emptying it’s contents onto the table. Crisps, bread and crackers come tumbling out, along with half a bottle of vodka. Louis wonders what Zayn did with the stuff that was originally in his backpack.

"Fuck me," Harry says, picking up a pack of pringles, falling back into his seat. His knees are bouncing, accidentally bumping into Louis’ knee every now and then. He flips the cap off, carefully taking a piece out and puts it in his mouth. 

And there’s that sound again, the moaning that makes Louis all flustered. Does this boy even know what he’s doing? Louis meets Zayn’s gaze, and he’s looking at him with a smug smile. He knows, and he knows that Louis knows, too. Louis shoots him a warning look, trying and failing to ignore the spark in his leg when Harry’s knee comes close. Louis tentatively pulls his leg away from Harry’s reach.

"This is so good," Harry mumbles around a pringle. "Louis, you’re a literal life saver. You too, Zayn. And you, pringle man. Absolute life saver."

"Did you run into any trouble?" Louis asks Zayn after an awkward cough, avoiding looking at Harry. 

"None," Zayn answers, an amused tilt to his tone. "Did you?"

Louis stares, mouth slightly agape. He closes it immediately, getting out of his seat. "I’m gonna go practice my aim. Enjoy the food."

"Be back in twenty," Harry says, oblivious to the obvious strain in Louis’ voice. "We’ll prepare some breakfast."

Louis gives him a half-assed salute before turning his back on them, exiting the shed. Just as his shoes hit the grass outside he realizes that he forgot the slingshot inside. He curses inwardly, reentering the shed and picking it up, eyes glued to the floor. 

"Have fun," Zayn calls before Louis closes the door behind himself with more force than necessary.

With determined steps, Louis walks away from the shed. Far enough to get some distance, but not far enough to get lost. He picks up some rocks, slinging them aimlessly through the woods. He stops for a moment, remembering that he actually needs to improve his aim, and starts over, slower this time. 

He tries to focus on his breathing, his target – which is the trunk of a tree. But the buzzing feeling in his gut won’t go away. No, not his gut. His groin. Buzzing, twitching, fizzling – like fine sand through an hourglass. Tingling noticeably, but not enough. He wants more. Craves it.

Louis shoots another rock, hitting the tree trunk dead centre. He picks out another rock to try and do it again. And again. And again. He keeps going until the tingly feeling goes away. He exhales, shooting a final rock at the tree, hitting the target yet again.

He should probably get back to the shed, but he’s hesitant. Louis wants to slap himself hard. Maybe then he’ll learn. 

Attraction isn’t voluntary, and Louis knows that. That doesn’t make it any less complicated to deal with, especially when his attraction is pointed towards someone he can’t get away from the morning after.

Harry might not even be into men. Or Louis, for that matter. 

He closes his eyes, willing his stupid dick and stupid feelings to play on his team. He promises them that when they get out of this hellhole he’s going to take them out, get some drinks, and find an attractive candidate to fulfill their wishes for one night. Then, when the lights go on and the booze is exiting his system, he can leave and never give the night another thought. 

Before he makes his way back, he checks his walls for any cracks. They’re not as solid as they should be, but they have to hold, even if Louis has to psychically keep them upright.

-

Louis helps Harry clean off the table after breakfast, while Zayn is sharpening his throwing knifes. The sound is horrible, like nails to a blackboard. It’s a distraction, at least, Louis thinks. His little incident from earlier made it extremely difficult to have breakfast with them, although Harry seemed oblivious.

"You know," Zayn starts, glancing at Louis. "You should get some proper training. Shooting rocks at trees is great and all, but what are you gonna do if you find yourself in close combat?"

Louis ties a rubber band around a bag of crisps, watching Zayn for a moment. "I guess I’ll give their bollocks a good kick."

Harry snorts from his side. "That always works."

Louis cocks his head, storing the crisps away on a shelf.

"This plan you were telling me about," Zayn continues. "If Louis’ gonna be down on the field with me, he needs to be able to do more than just kick them in the balls. There will be women fighting, too."

"I’ve heard it hurts like hell for them as well," Harry shoots in. 

Louis nods in agreement. "It’s a fact."

Zayn sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose.

Louis sits down by the table, clasping his hands together. "Alright. Teach me then." 

He watches as Zayn carefully lines up his knives on the table before getting to his feet. Without a glance, he turns, exiting the shed. It takes Louis two seconds to understand that he’s supposed to follow him.

The moment he’s out the door a hand grabs the back of his neck, while a shoe to his shin trips him over his own feet. He lands on his side, and doesn’t even get a chance to blink before he’s turned to his back with Zayn straddling him with a knife to his throat.

Louis gives himself a second to breathe, trying and failing to eye the knife digging into his skin. "I thought you put those away."

"Never assume anything," Zayn says. "Know."

Louis kicks his feet out, annoyed that he got tackled so easily. He can see Harry coming out to watch the spectacle from his peripheral vision. It’s almost maddening how embarrassed he suddenly feels.

"How do you get yourself out of this situation?" Zayn challenges.

Louis almost rolls his eyes. "You tell me."

Zayn clicks his tongue. "Just humour me for a second."

The blade is cold against Louis’ throat, reminding him that moving his head would only make things worse. He grabs onto Zayn’s wrist, pushing the knife away. It works for half a second before Zayn grabs Louis’ wrist with his other hand and twists, making Louis whimper in pain underneath him. Next thing he knows his wrist is pinned down to the ground under Zayn’s boot.

"Try again," Zayn says, calmly as ever.

Louis exhales loudly, trying to think. He dares a glance towards Harry, but he doesn’t give away any hints, just watches with an unreadable expression on his face.

He has his other hand free, and doesn’t want to waste it. Carefully, he digs his hand into the ground, getting a handful of dirt. He doesn’t break eye contact with Zayn, making sure he doesn’t see what he’s planning. 

He repositions his legs, then chucks the dirt at Zayn’s face, making the latter flinch away. The boot on his wrist lifts for a split second, and Louis takes the opportunity to pull it away. With both hands free, he grabs onto the knife and steers it to his right, away from his throat. It makes Zayn waver above him, enough for Louis to lift his left leg and topple him over.

With Zayn off him, he rolls his body in the other direction until he’s on his stomach, and quickly gets to his feet. 

"Yeah!" Louis cheers, feeling damn proud of himself. He looks over at Harry for some sort of validation. His expression is as stony as it was earlier, but when he meets Louis’ gaze he smiles softly.

Zayn gets to his feet as well, spitting dirt. "Wrong."

Louis’ face falls. "Wrong? I got you off, didn’t I?"

"You got lucky. Will you be able to do the same if you were pinned down on a floor? Or asphalt?"

Louis crosses his arms, shoulders hunching slightly. "I don’t see much asphalt around here."

"You get my point," Zayn says exasperatedly, before moving towards Louis. He grabs his arm, straightening it out from his body. Louis starts pulling it back, but Zayn keeps it in place, giving him a stern look.

Louis can hear Harry snickering behind him. 

"Here," Zayn starts, pushing the side of his hand towards Louis’ wrist, making it bend. He moves his hand up to his elbow next, doing the same. "Here." He presses a thumb towards a spot by Louis’ shoulder, making it pang out in pain. "Here."

Louis finally pulls his arm away, rubbing the sore spot by his shoulder. "What about it?"

"Pressure points to immobilize your attacker," Zayn explains. "The first thing you should have done when I grabbed you before was to go for them. If you had known where you should push, punch and kick, you wouldn’t have ended up on the ground in the first place."

Louis blinks. "Is the groin a pressure point?"

Zayn stares for a moment. "Yes," he grits out.

Louis knows he’s starting to get on Zayn’s nerves, he can tell by the way his eyes are almost popping out of his skull. It wasn’t really Louis’ intention, but he has a bad habit of making a joke out of things that are serious. He’s a pro at that kind of self defence.

Harry must sense Zayn’s irritation as well, because he steps forward and gives the latter a pat on the shoulder. "I can take over. Take a scouting round."

Zayn nods, casting one last cold stare at Louis. "Try at least."

Louis averts his eyes. "Okay."

He listens as Zayn’s boots move further away from them, glancing at Harry. "I’m sorry."

"It’s alright," Harry says. "You’re doing good."

Louis rolls his eyes. "I’m not. He’s right, I’m not trying hard enough. I act as though this isn’t about keeping myself alive."

Harry bites his lip, contemplating. "It wasn’t about that two days ago, though. It’s understandable that this is a lot. And to be fair, Zayn was exactly the same in the beginning as well. Worse, I’d say."

Louis appreciates Harry’s efforts to make him feel better. "Yeah?"

"I don’t believe we were born to be predators," Harry says. "Maybe thousands of years ago, but things have changed, haven’t they? If we were meant to be violent, it wouldn’t grind us down like this, would it?"

"Are you saying it’s not in my nature, and that’s why I’m so bad at it?"

Harry gives him a quick smile. "I’m saying it’s not in any of our nature. But what is in our nature is the need to protect. So sometimes we just have to break that nature and do what we have to do to keep the people around us safe. To keep ourselves safe, you know? Even if going against nature doesn’t come easy."

Louis nods, letting the core of what Harry’s saying wash over him. "I can do this."

"You can," Harry says. "And I’ll be right here every step of the way."

Louis looks into Harry’s green eyes, the sincerity in his words making him feel a bit stronger. He wants him to know that he’s grateful.

"Now punch me," Harry says bluntly.

Louis has to try two times to get the word out. "What?"

Harry shifts a bit, standing up taller. "Go on. Punch me."

"Where?" Louis asks shocked, mouth gaping open a bit. The way Harry can go from talking about the fundamentals of human values to asking Louis to punch him is so disorienting it’s making Louis dizzy.

"In my face," Harry says matter-of-factly, closing his eyes. 

Louis’ not going to allow himself to ask more questions, so he braces himself and throws a punch. Before his fist can hit Harry’s jaw, his arm bends in on itself as Harry grabs onto Louis’ elbow, digging in fingers into what must be a pressure point in Louis’ arm.

Annoyed, Louis tries hitting him again, but the outcome is the same as the first time. "What the fuck."

"You can’t go for the punch straight away. You have to turn my attention away so I can’t block your attack."

Louis thinks for a moment, then nods. He shoots his other fist out towards the left side of Harry’s face, missing by a mile, but it gives him an opening on the right side. His fist collides with Harry’s face.

"Oh, shit!" Louis exclaims, pulling his fists back, eyes wide. "I’m so sorry! That was too hard."

Harry rubs his cheek, beaming like the sun. 

"Why are you smiling?" Louis asks, stressed. He stares at the spot where he hit Harry, looking for any trace of a mark. It’s a little red. 

"That was great!" Harry cheers, smile not leaving his face despite his cheek getting redder.

Louis stares. "You have to punch me now. Make it even. Come on."

"No," Harry laughs. "I’m fine. I told you to punch me."

"I’m sorry," Louis says again, and before he can think he puts his hand to Harry’s cheek, careful not to touch the red area. Warmth spreads under his fingertips. Skin and stubble. He can feel Harry’s jaw move.

"I’m fine," Harry repeats quietly. "It’s part of the training, yeah?"

Louis removes his hand, blinking. "Sorry," he says again, but not for the punch. He lets his hand fall to his side, clenching it.

"Let’s try it again," Harry says, holding up his fists. "Here, I’ll show you."

Louis pays close attention as Harry teaches him how to throw a proper punch, how to block it, how to do a counter move. No more actual punches are thrown  – a relief, Louis thinks. Instead they run through techniques over and over again.

Harry shows Louis a few more pressure points, poking and prodding at Louis’ body until he can memorize them all by the ache they leave. It may feel uncomfortable for a second, but at least he learns. Also, he gets to point them out on Harry’s body in return, so Louis’ not going to complain.

The thing about Harry is that he’s rock solid, abs like concrete that hide underneath a soft layer of skin. For a fleeting moment, Louis wonders what it would feel like under his fingertips without all the clothes on, but is interrupted when Harry’s fist goes for another jab, and Louis blocks him, just as Harry has been showing him.

They go on like this until Louis can’t breathe and has to sit down. Sweat is pooling down his back, but fortunately it’s getting cooler out, the sun setting. 

Harry hands him a bottle of water, grinning. "You’ve done good. How’re you feeling?"

Louis accepts the water, breathing heavily. "Like I might throw up." He clumsily screws the cap off, fingers feeling like noodles. "Sore. Achy. Sweaty."

"We can clean ourselves up by the lake before it gets dark," Harry says. He’s barely broken a sweat, and Louis is as bitter about it as he is in awe.

Harry still has a hint of a smile when he disappears into the shed. Zayn came back about an hour ago, and Louis hears them exchange a few words inside before Harry comes out a minute later with a towel. "Do you mind if we share? We’ve only got the one," Harry says, holding the towel up.

The last person Louis shared a towel with was Ewan, but he doesn’t need Harry to know that, nor does he want the memory to occupy his thoughts any longer, so Louis shakes his head.

"Come on, then. It’s not far," Harry says, gesturing for Louis to follow him.

Louis follows on wobbly legs, prepared to be sore for days. It’s not before they reach the lake and Harry pulls his shirt over his head that Louis realizes what 'cleaning up' entails.

The water is still before them, mirroring the orange sky. The setting sun makes the trees cast long shadows around them, and Louis would usually appreciate the view, but his focus is completely somewhere else.

He feels like he shouldn’t stare, but Louis doesn’t know how he can not. Harry’s skin may be porcelain in the moonlight, but here in the glow of the setting sun, it’s golden. Louis watches how Harry’s muscles move as he folds his shirt carefully, laying it down on a rock by the edge of the water. The scar he saw on Harry’s back the the day before is a lighter shade of gold, and reaches down to his shoulder blades.

Harry turns to Louis, unbuttoning his trousers. "Are you just gonna stand there?" he asks, a slow smile spreading across his face. 

Louis blinks. "Sorry," he quickly says, and clumsily starts unbuttoning his own trousers. Goosebumps appear on his thighs the moment they’re exposed. He refrains from turning away from Harry as he takes his own shirt off, trying to shake his uncertainty. They’re just gonna clean themselves up, he tells himself, but his nerves crack nonetheless. 

Harry keeps his briefs on, so Louis does the same, and follows Harry into the water.

It’s not freezing, nor particularly warm, however the air is cool. Louis’ goosebumps spread, and he shivers a bit, but bravely dives into the water, letting it consume him. 

The water feels nice against his skin, so he swims around for a moment. Harry is somewhere underwater still, but emerges a few moments later. Water drips off his face, and Louis stares again.

He’s brought back to earth when Harry splashes water on him. 

Louis sputters. "Seriously?"

Harry cackles, and swims backwards with an amused expression on his face, waiting for Louis’ next move. "Yeah."

Louis tries to keep his face stony as he splashes back, but a laugh breaks loose anyway. The splashing intensifies quickly, and Louis has to close his eyes from how much water is being thrown back and forth between them. 

They calm after a while, and Louis starts shivering again from the cold.

There’s a ghost of a smile on Harry’s lips, his eyes are still sparkling. "Wanna dry off?"

Louis’ teeth are clattering. "Yes, please."

They swim to shore, and Harry holds up the towel for Louis when they’re out of the water. Louis walks into it, and allows Harry to wrap it around him, his joints immobilized by the freezing water dripping from his body. 

"Are you really that cold?" Harry asks, patting the towel against Louis’ skin, warming him up.

Louis nods jerkily, trying to shake his shivers. "Aren’t you?"

"I don’t get cold so easily," Harry replies, still dripping wet. 

Louis stands still as Harry rubs his shoulders dry, then awkwardly starts drying himself. As he lifts his foot to dry his leg, he loses his balance, and starts falling before he can stop himself.

Harry catches him halfway there, one hand on each elbow trying to steady him. However, Louis’ feet won’t cooperate with him at the moment, and he trips again, falling straight into Harry’s chest. It’s warm, it’s wet, and his stomach churns at the familiarity of such comforts. Louis body tells him to stay put, but his mind is reminding him of a line it refuses to cross again. He can hear Harry laugh, but he is too caught up in willing himself to calm down to acknowledge it.

It takes Louis two tries to find his footing again. Glancing up at Harry, he registers that he’s still standing incredibly close to the latter’s half naked body, and takes a careful step back, mindful of the wobbly terrain. 

"Sorry," Louis mumbles, blinking.

Harry laughs quietly. "Found your feet yet?"

Louis gives him a quick glance. "Yes." He tries to come up with a witty explanation as to why he fell over, but stops when something in Harry’s face changes.

Harry’s staring at something behind Louis, smile long gone.

"What?" Louis asks, turning around to look. His heart starts pounding immediately, seeing thick, black smoke rise to the sky from somewhere deep in the forest. 

Harry moves so fast it startles Louis, throwing his clothes on despite still being soaking wet. Louis drops the towel and follows suit.

"Is it the shed?" Louis asks, pulling his socks on. 

"Maybe," Harry says, not elaborating further as he quickly ties his shoelaces. He starts jogging towards the smoke, and Louis catches up to him as soon as he gets his own boots on.

Once Louis is by Harry’s side, he picks up his pace, and together they run.

"Harry," Louis breathes, legs burning. "What if it’s the cultists?"

Harry doesn’t slow down. "Zayn’s still in there."

Louis wants to argue that it wouldn’t be wise to run in there, whether it’s to save Zayn from whatever has happened or not. But he knows what’s important to Harry, and that is to make sure that the ones he loves are safe. He couldn’t talk him out of this even if he held a gun to his head.

So he keeps running, knowing fully well that he’s putting his own life on the line here. However, –and the thought scares him to death – he would follow Harry into that fire without a moment of hesitation. He shakes that thought away, and lets his feet carry him on.

They slow down a little outside the area, far enough to stay hidden, but close enough to see what’s going on. 

The shed is on fire. Flames rising higher than the roof, bleeding out of every crack there is to the old building, demanding it to break. The smoke is so thick that Louis can’t see through it, and the smell reaches his nose the second he takes a breath.

Harry stops, staring at the chaos before him. "Can you see him?"

Louis scans the scene. A cultist walks past the shed, machine gun in hand, yelling at someone to calm down. Louis follows his line of sight, and sees Zayn struggling against the hold of two other cultists.

"Harry," Louis warns quietly, gesturing towards Zayn.

Harry’s not hesitant when he starts walking towards the commotion, and Louis grabs ahold of his arm before he can go any further. 

"Don’t," Louis urges. He can hear Zayn cursing at the men.

"I can't stand here and do nothing," Harry retorts. "You can stay here, or you can come with me."

"We don’t have any weapons," Louis says, already knowing he’s lost the battle. He also knows that he’s not letting Harry go in there alone.

"Kick them in the groin," Harry advises, before turning away. Louis lets his arm slip away, and it takes him two more seconds to follow. 

The sun has disappeared behind the horizon, however the sky is still streaked in reds and oranges providing enough light for Louis to spot their enemies. There are a lot more of them than he’s ever seen before. He counts eleven.

Harry doesn’t seem to see that as a problem at all, though. No one has spotted either one of them yet, lazy branches and bushes keeping them out of sight for now. 

Harry points towards a group of three cultists standing a bit further away from the others, with their backs turned, watching the shed burn. 

Louis glances at Harry quizzically for a moment, before Harry hands him a rock the size of a tennis ball.

"Take out the one on the left, I’ll take the other two," Harry whispers. "Don’t hold back."

The rock is heavy in Louis’ hand, palm clammy. He just nods, but keeps his eyes locked with Harry. A silent question. _Are we gonna be okay?_

Harry’s brows are furrowed, gaze both determined and reassuring. A silent promise. Or maybe the hope that he can keep that promise.

Louis swallows, and braces himself, turning his attention to his target. All he has to do is take a few steps, and hit him in the back of his head. Harry will do the rest. Harry will be there.

Without further ado, Harry inches towards the men, head down, gesturing for Louis to do the same, without so much as the break of a twig. Louis tries holding his breath, but he can still smell the cologne of the man he’s about to attack.

He’s just a silhouette before him, a shadow standing in front of the fire. 

Harry jumps to his feet, and Louis follows suit, no time to think. He smashes the rock as hard as he can across the side of the cultist’s skull. 

It wasn’t hard enough, Louis realizes, as the man fumbles to get his footing back and spins around. Louis doesn’t have time to check on Harry before the cultist shoots his fist out, hitting Louis on the side of his jaw, the sound more jarring than the pain.

Louis stumbles, the taste of blood making him dizzy. He shakes it off quickly, backing up as the cultist is getting ready for a second strike. Louis follows Harry’s advise, and kicks his leg out and up as hard as he can, smashing his boot into the man’s groin. The cultist doubles forward, upper body bent, which gives Louis the opportunity to knee him in the face.

It should hurt to have teeth collide with his knee, but Louis doesn’t feel a thing, blood boiling in his veins, head buzzing.

The cultist falls to his side, still very much conscious, but unable to defend himself. A boot that doesn’t belong to Louis kicks the man in the face, knocking him out completely. Louis looks up, once again locking eyes with Harry. Behind him the other two cultists are sprawled in the shrubs, eyes closed and faces bruised.

"Three down," Harry whispers, already scanning the area, seeking out his next target.

Louis lets his eyes wander as well, relieved no one has seen them yet. The roaring fire was enough to drown out any sound they made.

Or at least that’s what Louis thinks, but it’s quickly proven otherwise when Harry is plummeting to his side and harshly thrown to the ground by a man Louis hadn’t spotted until now.

Louis barely has the chance to reach his hands out before he is tackled to the ground as well, head banging against something hard.

Disoriented, Louis tries to refocus his eyes, feeling the weight of a man holding him down, yelling commands Louis can’t comprehend at the moment. He wriggles weakly, the pain on the side of his head making his head spin and stomach roll.

He vaguely registerers Harry’s voice, cussing and protesting wildly, but Louis can’t see anything except brutal flames growing taller and taller, until they get swallowed up in dark smoke. 

Then the fire is gone.


	4. He’s A Rebel

Coherent thoughts come back in jagged pieces. Louis’ head feels like cotton, and he can’t decide which part of his body hurts the most. Opening his eyes is a task on its own, the light nauseating and blinding. The floor he’s laying on is splintered, the sensation raw against his cheek. He groans.

"How’s your head?" 

Louis doesn’t recognize the voice, and he forces his eyes to regain their focus, forces his body to wake up. He slowly rolls over onto his back, allowing his eyes to get used to the light for a moment.

A log beam across the ceiling, a broken lightbulb. A fly buzzing about, seemingly oblivious to the world around it. The taste of blood is stuck in Louis’ mouth, and he coughs.

"Here, take this," the voice says again. Something cold is pushed against Louis’ hand, and he looks down to see what it is. Bag of frozen peas. He squeezes it for a second, brows furrowed, before searching for the owner of the unfamiliar voice.

It’s a bearded man, late forties, standing over him with his hands folded in front of him. His eyes are luminous and curious as he watches Louis, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. 

Louis refrains from groaning again when as sits up, room spinning slightly. He holds the makeshift ice pack to the side of his head. It feels nice.

He turns to the stranger again, glaring. He’s dressed in a long, brown robe, joggers and boots. The robe sways slightly, the fabric thin.

"Hello," the man greets, an amused tilt to his tone. He gestures to Louis’ head. "Sorry about that. Some water, maybe? Tea?"

Louis blinks, puzzled. Before he can answer, the man turns, moving towards a wooden dining table. He pulls a couple of chairs out, humming a tune, before disappearing into a different room.

Louis lets his gaze wander across the room. He’s definitely in a cabin, small and homely, decorated with old wooden furniture and ugly curtains. He can’t see anyone else, and gets up to peek out the window.

It’s morning, the sun hanging low in the sky. He spots two cultists lounging on the porch, guns resting in their laps. They’re drinking beer, talking, but Louis can’t hear them at all. 

He moves away from the window, turning his head towards the exit. He wanders over quietly, pulling down on the door handle, but it’s locked. 

"Why so eager to leave?" 

Louis jumps at the voice, turning to see that the stranger has returned with a mug in each hand.

The stranger lifts the mugs up a bit. "I was hoping to get a chance to talk with you."

"Do I have a choice?" Louis asks, not moving from the spot.

"Of course," the man answers, setting the mugs down. "Sadly we didn’t have any sugar. Hope that’s okay."

With locked doors and cultists guarding outside, Louis doubts he actually has a choice. He puts the bag to his head again, and approaches the table while still keeping a fair distance from the man. 

The stranger waits for Louis to sit down before he does the same, pushing the tea towards him. Louis glares at the mug.

"Where’s Harry?" Louis asks, voice demanding. 

"He’s safe," the stranger simply answers, dipping his teabag. 

Louis watches him for a moment, waiting for an elaboration that doesn’t come. "Is he with Zayn?"

The stranger raises his brows, exhaling loudly. He takes a sip of his tea. "You worry an awful lot. Doesn’t it get tiring?"

Louis doesn’t answer. He wonders if the man in front of him is one of the core members of the Family. It doesn’t seem like he doesn’t want to be here. He looks content, face relaxed and body language open. Louis can’t see any weapons on him. 

"I used to worry a lot, too," the stranger says, eyeing Louis. "About my job, my family, my future. I would worry about what was on the news, if I had enough money to buy my little girl a new pair of shoes. All my time was spent worrying. And it truly was…" He pauses. "Tiring. Very, very tiring."

Louis feels exposed under the strangers stare, and averts his gaze without thinking.

It’s quiet for a moment, and Louis wonders if maybe the stranger expects some sort of response, but before he can think of anything to say, the stranger continues. "I drank a lot. It helped me sleep at night, but it didn’t really keep me awake during the day. A constant headache, tired eyes and scrambled mind.

"And I couldn’t for the life of me understand how everyone else coped so well with everything. They worried just as much as I did. Most of them hated their jobs, like I did. And no one slept. We were all walking around like zombies crumbling underneath the mundane lifestyle we’d gotten so used to. Worked our asses off, and for what?"

The stranger snorts, a sarcastic smile spreading across his lips. "When my wife packed up and left with my daughter in tow, the little light I had left in my life flickered and died. I had nothing."

Louis looks down at his untouched tea. It’s getting cold.

"Have you ever felt trapped, brother? Stuck in time, caged in by the norms of society, striving to fulfill their expectations till the day you die?"

Louis wants to laugh. "It’s the way life is."

"But it doesn’t have to be," the stranger states, eyes boring into Louis’ like a dagger to flesh. Louis has to avert his eyes again. "I didn’t want that for me, nor do I want that for you."

Louis shifts in his seat, hesitating for a moment. "What do you want?"

"I want to create an international commune where people are free to live their lives as they please," the stranger begins, turning his palms face up. "With no expectations to be successful. No schedules to follow. No norms or rules to slow you down. Just pure freedom."

Blinking, Louis suddenly feels dizzy as he realizes who is sitting before him. Charming, kind, inviting, just like Zayn had said. But he had also warned Louis about his ruthlessness. 

"I know what you’re thinking," the Creator says, smiling. "Impossible. It would be anarchy."

Louis clenches his teeth, feeling chained to the spot.

The Creator continues. "Which is why we have three ground rules. Yeah, yeah, I know I said there were no rules, but these are more like," he juggles his hands for a moment, thinking. "Principles, perhaps?"

"I know about your rules," Louis bites. "Respect each other, contribute to the cause, leave and you’re dead."

Louis doesn’t avert his eyes this time, hoping to make the cult leader understand that he’s not about to submit. The Creator laughs.

"You make it sound so horrible," he chuckles. 

"It is horrible," Louis states. He wants to whack that smile off the man’s face. "And how is it different from that mundane way of living you just talked about? You still have to work, you still have rules to follow. And how many innocent people in this community of yours go around worrying they might get shot if they say the wrong thing?"

The table creaks when the Creator leans forward. "I know you’ve heard stories about me. Some of them are true, but most are not. Those people you call your friends have filled your head with so much hatred. I can see it’s tearing you apart. But I can help you, brother."

"Don’t call me that," Louis says with heat. 

The Creator’s smile turns somber, his gaze overflowing with sympathy, yet Louis finds it menacing. "I’ve heard stories about you, too," he says carefully, voice silky soft. "You know what it’s like to be abandoned as well, don’t you?"

The words send a sick shudder down Louis’ spine, the jolt making him squeeze the makeshift ice bag tighter. "Shut up."

"Did you leave him, or did he leave you for that other man?" The Creator watches him closely, head tilting to one side in wonder. 

It was the former, but Louis’ not going to say that. "That’s none of your fucking business."

"True," the Creator agrees easily. "Your past isn’t my concern, nor does it matter. But whether or not you left him, you were still abandoned in a way. He had your heart, and took it with him when he left. Hurt you, like my wife hurt me. What I’m trying to say is that I understand you. I know your pain."

Louis can see why some people might lean on this man’s promises of a better life, but they didn’t know what Louis knows about him. "Stop that," Louis grits out. "We both know you’re only filling people’s heads with crap. You don’t give a shit. You’re keeping them prisoners. You’re killing them."

"Sadly, change doesn’t come without sacrifice," the Creator says somberly, ignoring the accusation in Louis’ voice. "No one said it was supposed to be easy. But if change is gonna come, we must cull the herd. Today’s society is not ready for a change this big, and we can’t afford them trying to stop us. So instead, we make them an offer to join us."

The Creator gives Louis an expectant look. Louis is nauseous. 

"Be a part of our Family, brother," the Creator says. "Join our cause to make life worth living again."

"No," Louis says without a hint of hesitation.

It’s apparent that his answer doesn't come as a surprise to the Creator, his face ever so patient, smile lingering on his lips. "You already belong somewhere." It’s not a question, and he says it like it’s a tragic reality.

"So do Niall and Liam," Louis snarls, chest flaring. "Who knows how many others you’re keeping prisoners in your cult."

The Creator’s eyes are seeking as he watches Louis. "They’re not prisoners. They’re my Family. And I know you miss them, and I can tell you that they miss you, too."

"This is so fucked up," Louis mutters, feeling sick. "You’re fucked up."

"I’ll make you a deal," the Creator says, a sudden bounce to his movements like he’s just come up with a great idea. "You join our Family, reunite with your brothers, and I will let your murdering friends live." 

Louis stills. "What?"

"It’s a fair deal, isn’t it?" the Creator reasons, slurping his tea. "Three of my brothers have been killed by your new," he waves a hand around, like searching for a word, "friends, whatever. One of my sisters got an arrow through her neck, barely survived. Their crimes cannot go unanswered.

"I can’t let them just go, that would be ridiculous, they would just keep on slaughtering my Family. But, I can let them live. Just for you. That’s the beauty of our community. We are forgiving, and we make peace."

"Fuck you." Louis feels more and more trapped, like the walls are caving in, the sky is falling down. 

The Creator flashes an apologetic smile, false sympathy dripping off his teeth. "I’ll come back tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll have decided by then."

Without another word, the Creator rises, leaving his half finished tea behind. He taps on the window where the other cultists are guarding outside, and they are quick to unlock the door for him.

Louis jumps out of his seat, striding towards the Creator with fury in his bones and fire in his eyes. The Creator is halfway out the door when Louis grabs his arm, turning him around. Without a pause, he smashes his fist to the Creator’s jaw. The latter doubles forward, shock apparent on his face.

Blood boiling, Louis raises his fist again, but before he can shoot it forward, something hard hits him on the side of his face. He falls fast and hard, landing on his back. He’s about to get back up, but stops when he’s faced with the barrel of a rifle, staring him down, ordering him to stay put.

"Fuck you!" Louis bellows again, but the Creator is already gone. All that’s left is the sickly sweet smell of sugar and tea.

-

It’s noon, and Louis has torn the cabin apart looking for a way out. The windows have been bolted from the outside. He’s checked for weapons, but the closest thing to deadly he’s found is an old cheese grater.

He might look crazy to the guards outside, but he doesn’t really care, as he hurls yet another chair at the window, begging for it to break. 

It doesn’t break.

Louis breathes heavily, wishing more than ever that Harry was here. He would know what to do. He probably knows how to pick a lock.

Musing, Louis glances at the exit, wondering how hard it can actually be.

Not ready to give up just yet, he enters the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers for something small enough to fit through the keyhole. Spoons, twine, teabags. Salt shakers. Plastic wrappers.

He slams the drawers closed, and goes to look in the bedroom. He’s so caught up in his own head that he startles when he spots someone staring at him through the window, and it takes him two seconds to recognize Zayn. His face is bloody and bruised, the sight jarring Louis to the bones.

"Shit," he whispers, hurrying over to the window. He stares at Zayn quizzically, wondering how he got here.

Zayn holds a finger to his lips, urging Louis to play it cool. It takes a moment for Louis to remember how to nod.

" _Are you okay?_ " Louis mouths, placing his palm on the window.

Zayn gives him a thumbs up, smile sarcastic but still playful. 

Louis breathes in relief. " _Harry?_ "

Zayn points to his side, although Louis can’t see where, but it’s apparent that he knows where Harry is. Again, Louis feels relief flowing through his body, and he realizes that they can get out of here. 

He points a thumb behind himself, then proceeds to hold up two fingers. " _Two guards_ ," he mouths.

Zayn pulls his hood up. " _You,_ " he mouths, pointing at Louis. " _Distract._ "

Louis thinks for a moment, before nodding, turning away from the window. He exits the bedroom, grabs a chair, dragging it with him while he moves towards the window where the cultists are lounging. He taps on the window a few times.

They don’t turn, so Louis taps again, with more force this time. 

Finally they turn, and Louis doesn’t think twice before he slams the chair against the window. They stare at him. Glad to have their attention, Louis slams the chair against the window again, and again. 

Before Louis knows it, Zayn has come up behind the guards. He makes it look easy as he knocks them out with a piece of plank across their heads. In quick succession, they crumble and fall.

Zayn works fast as he searches the unconscious bodies, and finally pulls out a set of keys. He disappears from view, and a second later metal clatters in the locked door.

Putting the chair aside, Louis moves towards the exit. It opens with a click.

"How did you get out?" is the first thing Louis asks when he’s finally face to face with Zayn.

"They never got me here," Zayn says. "Harry made quite a show by the shed, and I fought to get away when they while busy with you two. I’m sorry, I should have gotten you out sooner."

The Creator had lied to him when he said he had both Zayn and Harry, Louis realizes. It makes Louis wonder what else he had lied about. "It’s alright," Louis says, concluding that must be why his face is so bruised. He fought hard. Louis wishes he could have been able to do the same. Maybe then they wouldn’t be in this mess.

Something crackles, and Louis turns his head to find the source of the sound. Punctuated by static, a female voice comes through. " _Castillo, do you copy?_ "

Zayn is quick to move, picking up a walkie from one of the bodies. 

" _We need an update. Castillo, please respond._ " The voice calm, almost bored, but the more the woman on the other end repeats the question, the more agitated she sounds.

"We need to get Harry and go now," Zayn stresses. 

Zayn turns, stuffing the walkie into his back pocket, and starts towards a shed Louis couldn’t see from inside the cabin. It’s a bit bigger than Harry and Zayn’s shed; unpainted and unscratched, like it’s newly built. 

Louis follows, heart pounding in his chest. Any minute now, someone will come and check on the guards. Louis hopes the cultists are too far away to get here in time.

Zayn pulls out the keys again, finding the one to fit the door to the shed. Louis keeps a lookout, bouncing on his feet. Finally, the door creaks open, and Louis’ quick to follow Zayn inside.

Harry’s tied to a pole in the middle of the room. It’s dark, the air stuffy. Louis runs over to Harry, putting his hands to his cheeks without thinking, searching his face.

"Are you–," Louis starts, but stops himself when he gets a better look at the other man’s face. His lip is split and swollen, and the places where Louis can’t find dried blood he finds bruises. Harry’s cheeks are clammy under Louis’ palms, and he loosens his grip on Harry’s cheeks until they’re barely brushing his skin.

"Christ," Louis manages. "What did they do to you?"

"I’m fine," Harry croaks, but Louis doesn’t believe it for a second. He lets it slide in favor of finding something to cut Harry loose, but he doesn’t have to look far. Zayn hands him a knife the moment he stands, and it’s only now that he takes in his surroundings. A workbench stretches along the entire wall opposite Harry, weapons and miscellaneous supplies stored neatly away in baskets and on racks along the wall. Zayn has already found their stuff from the shed, which Louis had up until now assumed was lost in the fire.

Louis doesn’t waste anymore time gawping, trusting Zayn to get them everything they need.

He walks around Harry, dropping to his feet. The rope around Harry’s wrists are bloodied – most likely as Harry struggled to get free, and Louis blocks that thought out while cutting.

Once free, Harry turns, and suddenly Louis is wrapped in his arms. He stills for a moment, just like he did when he was embraced yesterday. This embrace feels different, though. More urgent. Harry seemingly doesn’t sense Louis’ uncertainty, as his hands find the base of Louis’ neck.

"I’m so sorry." Harry pushes through the hoarseness in his voice. "I put you in danger. I wasn’t thinking, I just lost it last night."

"It’s alright," Louis assures, tentatively holding Harry a bit tighter. "I’m okay. We’re okay."

"We need to go," Zayn emphasizes. "Help me carry these."

Louis pulls back carefully, giving Harry one last look to make sure he’s okay. When Harry nods, Louis rises to his feet, reaching out a hand to help Harry get up. 

The bow is pushed into Harry’s hand, along with the quiver. Louis turns to pick up the slingshot. He finds his phone and the map in a cardboard box. Zayn hands him his backpack, and Louis pulls it on, idly wondering if the bottle of vodka is still in there.

Louis whips his head up at the sound of a vehicle approaching.

"Shit," Zayn whisper-shouts. "Run, and don’t let them get close."

He grabs a gun at random, quickly loading it, and pushes it into Louis’ hand. "You can do this, Louis," he urges, giving his arm a pat, and then he’s moving out the door.

Harry and Louis are quick to follow suit, but Louis stuffs the gun into his waistband, not trusting himself to aim for non-fatal body parts. He chooses his slingshot instead, and picks up rocks as soon as they exit the shed. Outside, cultists are getting out of a Jeep, and it doesn’t take them long to find the two unconscious guards on the porch. 

"There they are!" someone yells. Louis runs after Zayn, Harry hot on his heels. 

A gun goes off, then another one, and before Louis knows it bullets are raining down on them. He shoots his rocks aimlessly back, not looking to see whether he hits someone or not. Zayn slows down when he throws a knife, but quickly regains his pace after.

They run into the forest, trees thick and giving them enough cover to slow down. Harry fires his bow, arrow flying through the air at the speed of lightning, then ducks behind a tree.

Louis hazily dodges a bullet, and it’s clear that the cultists aren’t aiming for their feet anymore, as bullets spray through the branches by Louis’ head.

He takes cover behind the same tree Harry is, caging him in with his hands on either side of his head, his slingshot crushed beneath his palm. It isn’t until now that Louis sees how pale the other man is.

"What–" Louis begins, but his question dies on his tongue as Harry flips them around, switching places. Harry readies his bow, sweat pooling on his forehead, eyes clouded. He fires an arrow so close to Louis’ ear he flinches.

Somewhere to their right Zayn is throwing another knife, and Louis chances a glance behind himself, past the trunk of the tree. He only spots a man with a knife stuck in his shoulder before Harry grabs his arm.

"Keep moving," he says, and Louis would have missed the waver in his voice had he not been standing so close.

Harry spins around, Louis’ arm in tow, and only lets go once they’ve picked up some speed. Zayn flies past them, urging them both to run faster.

It’s a blur of green as they navigate through the forest, the colours disrupted by the blinding sun peaking through the trees like a strobe light. It’s dizzying, but Louis blinks it away, not allowing it to slow his pace.

Louis can’t tell how far they’ve run as Zayn comes to a halt, but the fire in his legs gives him some indication. 

"Where are we going?" Louis asks around the acid on his tongue. Now that the shed is history, he can’t see where else they can hide. He wouldn’t dare to think that breaking into a cabin would be safe, given that the cultists can find them so easily.

"The bunker," Zayn says, and elaborates when Harry opens his mouth to argue. "It’s our best shot."

Louis is confused, and glances at Harry for answers. Harry is busy staring at Zayn, and after a pause he nods. His expression tells Louis that he’s not happy about the decision. Why, Louis doesn’t know, but he leaves his questions for later. 

Louis follows the pair deeper into the woods. The weight of the gun in his waistband should make him feel better, but he can’t shake the feeling that the cultists are breathing down their necks. 

They’ve made it to a river when Harry slows, his feet accidentally stumbling over bumps in his path. Louis jogs to his side, reaching out to force Harry to a halt.

"What’s going on?" Louis demands, gazing up at Harry’s pale face. "And don’t tell me you’re fine."

"My leg," Harry says at length. 

Zayn joins them, his eyes assessing as he glances down at Harry’s legs. "We’re almost there. Come on." He throws Harry’s arm over his own shoulder, so Louis does the same on the other side.

Louis listens to Harry’s breathing as they make their way to the mysterious bunker. As Zayn promised, it isn’t a long walk, and the moment they stop Harry untangles himself from Louis and Zayn in favor of leaning up against a tree instead. 

Zayn crouches to the ground, and starts pulling branches away from a metallic trapdoor Louis hadn't spotted until now. It should be a good sign that he couldn’t see it, but just then a gun fires in the distance. Target practice, Louis reasons, but it sounds much closer than it did by the shed.

"We’re closer to the hamlet," Louis states, and doesn’t wait for a reply. "How close?"

Zayn pulls away the last branch and grabs the handle of the trapdoor, keeping his gaze at the task. "Close enough." 

Louis is annoyed by his vague answer, but doesn’t comment on it. He helps Zayn get the trapdoor fully open, and stares down into a hole that seems to go on for miles. A ladder is installed to one wall, and Louis idly wonders how they’re gonna get Harry down there.

His concerns are answered when Harry is the first one to start climbing down, teeth gritted against a pain he can’t hide. Louis shoots Zayn a look, but Zayn just shrugs.

Louis climbs down after Harry, and Zayn pulls the trapdoor closed as he follows. It’s pitch-black, and Louis listens as Harry’s cussing to himself. Shortly after a light flicks on, and finally Louis can take in his surroundings.

Harry carefully lowers himself on a mattress against the wall, but other than that the room is bare of any furnishing, and just a bit smaller than the inside of the shed. The walls are concrete, and the lightbulb is barely hanging onto the ceiling.

Louis isn’t claustrophobic, but he guesses a few nights down here might change that.

He shakes that thought off and crouches down by Harry instead. Harry’s trying to get his trousers off, but his fingers are shaking in the attempt. 

Louis spots the blood seeping through the fabric around Harry’s thigh, and is quick to help him get out of the trousers. It takes a bit of work, and Louis tries to be as gentle as he can when he pulls the fabric away from Harry’s wound. Once the wound is free, Harry waves Louis off to do the rest of the job himself.

Louis doesn’t argue, too busy keeping his stomach in check at the sight of all the blood. "You’ve been shot," Louis manages.

"I know," is what Harry chooses to answer, like it’s as trivial as the weather.

"You didn’t say anything." Louis drags his gaze away from the wound to look at Harry, who’s busy ripping the end of his shirt off.

"It wouldn’t have made a difference." Harry finally pulls a good chunk of fabric loose, and uses it to tie around his thigh to stop the bleeding. "Our priority was to get out of there."

Louis wants to argue, but he knows Harry’s right. That doesn’t make it fair. Harry shouldn’t have had to run through the forest with a wound like that. 

"What can I do?" Louis asks, but just then Zayn crouches down as well, rudely pushing Louis out of his way. Louis’ weak protest is ignored as Zayn rummages through a bag he grabbed from the cultist’s supply room. Bandages, scissors and other first aid supplies are thrown onto the mattress next to Harry in quick succession.

"The bullet barely grazed you," Zayn mumbles. "You’ll be fine."

Harry doesn’t seem fazed by Zayn’s lack of sympathy, and busies himself with a wet cloth Zayn gives him to rub at his wound.

This isn’t new to them, Louis realizes. He watches as they clean Harry's wound with practiced ease, how Zayn swats Harry’s hands away trying to help with the bandages. They must've patched each other up enough times that shock is a foreign concept to the both of them. Louis’ still trying to will his heart to a healthy pace, and his fingers are aching to help them out.

Knowing Harry and Zayn have things under control, Louis busies himself with the next best thing. He pulls the backpack off his shoulder, and digs around in it for a bit before triumphantly pulling out the bottle of vodka he prayed was still in there. 

Harry accepts the bottle, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

"What?" Louis asks.

"You’re paler than I am," Harry elaborates. "Yet I’m the one with a gunshot wound."

Louis fish-mouths for a moment, staring blankly as Harry takes a swig of the vodka. When Louis doesn’t answer, Harry settles on handing the bottle back. Louis doesn’t hesitate when taking a big swig for himself, appreciating the burn in his throat.

"They got your tiger," Zayn comments, and Louis is confused by the strange sentence before he follows Zayn’s gaze down to Harry’s thigh. Zayn is just about finished with the bandaging, but the tattoo of a tiger is still visible.

"Fuckers," Harry comments, assessing the damage.

Louis clears his throat, head still a bit fuzzy from the shock. "Do you think the cultists are aware that tigers are on the red list of threatened species?"

It’s silent for a moment, and Louis drags his gaze away from the bandaged tiger to glance at Harry. Almost immediately, Harry’s face cracks open and he wheezes out a laugh. Zayn falls forward laughing as well, and Louis’ confused expression evaporates as he joins them.

Laughing feels completely inappropriate, but that only makes it harder to stop. Zayn grabs the bottle of vodka before Louis spills it, and drinks. 

The good mood doesn’t last long, because suddenly the walkie Zayn snagged from the guards at the cabin starts crackling. Zayn pulls it out, and they all go quiet as they wait for the person on the other end to start talking. 

" _You can’t hide forever,_ " the voice says. It’s a man this time, and Louis idly wonders what happened to the woman from before. 

Louis also wonders how the cultists would know that they’ve got their walkie, and he’s about to voice as much to Zayn when he pushes a button to reply.

"We won’t. Watch your back, assholes," he says with so much venom in his voice it sends a chill down Louis’ spine. 

"Can it be traced?" Louis asks Harry in a whisper, though he knows the person on the other end can’t hear him unless Zayn holds the button in.

"No," Harry answers. "But I don’t think we should hold onto it. They’re gonna use it to their advantage to mess with us."

Zayn ignores the voice on the other end as he talks over it. "Then we’ll do the same. We both have an advantage now. We should use it."

Harry contemplates that for a moment, before nodding.

The man on the other end is still talking, but Louis hasn’t been listening. Neither has Zayn, and he doesn’t seem to care what is being said either apparently, because he turns the walkie off.

"Get some rest," Zayn tells Harry. "I’ll head up and keep watch."

"What can I do?" Louis asks.

Zayn glances at Harry as he gets to his feet. "Stay with him."

Louis accepts that with a nod, and watches as Zayn turns to leave. It’s not until the trapdoor is shut behind him that Louis turns to Harry.

Harry’s eyes are already closed, his back slumped against the wall. There’s no way that he’s comfortable, but Louis doesn’t comment on it. Harry’s breath is already evening out, so it’s apparent how tired he actually is.

Louis shifts to sit on the mattress next to Harry, but he doesn’t close his eyes. Instead he listens to Harry’s breathing, making sure it’s steady. In, out, in, out. It’s enough to calm his own nerves, and he allows it to wash over him again and again.


	5. Rhythm Of The Rain

Louis’ counted Harry’s breaths to keep track of time. The bunker doesn’t give away any hints, but even after counting the soft exhales and inhales, Louis still doesn’t know what time of day it is. He made it to 2389 before getting distracted the first time. Harry’s soft snore startled Louis to the point where he almost woke Harry up.

The second time he tried counting he almost made it to 800 when something creaked above him, and he had to stop to hold his own breath. It was only Zayn, coming down to get some crackers, promptly leaving again.

After that he didn’t count for a while, getting caught up watching Harry’s eyes move underneath his eyelids, wondering what kind of dream he was having.

He’s currently at 3802.

3803.

The snore makes a startling reappearance, and Louis is more endeared than frustrated it messed with his counting again. He gives up counting in favor of getting to his feet, and climbs the ladder.

Getting the trapdoor open is the hard part, but he doesn’t have to push for long before Zayn helps him from the surface.

Louis gives the sky a glance. It’s evening, and he’s confused for a moment. He didn’t know he counted that slowly. He doesn’t want to think he lost track of time watching Harry sleep.

"What’s up?" Zayn asks after a while, and Louis realizes he’s been waiting for Louis to say something.

"Just wanted to know what time it was," Louis explains. He takes a few breaths of fresh air.

"Have you slept?" Zayn asks.

"No." Louis is confused at the look he receives. "Was I supposed to?"

Zayn can only keep up the serious expression for a few seconds longer before a smile cracks through the facade. "What have you been doing all day?"

Louis blinks. "I did as you said. I stayed with Harry."

Zayn’s expression is amused, and Louis’ clawing at his brain trying to understand it, but Zayn doesn’t give anything away. "Try to sleep. I’ll keep watch for a couple more hours, but I haven’t seen any cultists, so I think we’re safe for now."

Louis nods, and feels himself relax at his words. He bids Zayn goodnight before climbing back down. Harry’s still sound asleep, and Louis carefully sits back down beside him. This time he allows himself to close his eyes, but he keeps count of Harry’s breathing until he nods off.

-

It’s the sound of grumbling that drags Louis from his dream. He forgets the dream the moment his eyes blink open, taking his time to find the source of said grumbling.

Harry’s walking slow laps around the small bunker, stretching out his injured leg. He’s lost his shirt somewhere along the way, but his body is still shivering despite his sweating. Louis watches him for a moment, his stomach roils seeing how hard Harry’s trying to keep from crying out.

"You should be resting," Louis says. 

Harry stops moving, turning with surprise on his face. "I didn’t mean to wake you."

Louis sits up straighter, patting the empty spot next to him. "Come on."

"We’re wasting time. No," Harry says when Louis opens his mouth to argue. "It’s not safe for us here. It’s a five minute walk from here to the hamlet, did you know? The cultists won’t let us go that easily. They’ll turn these forests upside down looking for us, and we’re making it ridiculously easy for them. I won’t let a stupid injury slow us down."

"Stupid injury," Louis echoes. "You got shot, Harry."

"If I can stand I can run," Harry shoots back with a neutrality Louis doesn’t believe for a second. His stubbornness might be annoying, but not misplaced and Louis knows that. Getting further away from the hamlet should be their top priority, however, their chances of making it far are slim as Harry winces if he so much as lifts his leg.

Louis needs Harry to understand that, so he lurches to his feet and strides toward the other man until there’s barely an inch between their two bodies. "Run then," Louis challenges with a glare.

Harry glares back for a moment, before promptly turning his back to Louis and walks over to the far wall. Once there, he turns back around and motions for Louis to get out of his way. Louis doesn’t miss how Harry’s trying to will his face to not give away any sign of pain, but he doesn’t comment on it. 

"I ran fine yesterday," Harry mutters.

"Your body was pumped with adrenaline yesterday."

"It shouldn’t matter."

"Obviously it does."

Harry stares ahead with a blank expression on his face, and Louis keeps his mouth in a thin line waiting for the other man to make up his mind. It doesn’t take long.

"Fuck," Harry hisses, thumping the back of his head against the wall. 

"Hey," Louis starts, rushing towards Harry. He stretches his arms out, but they fall back to his sides before they reach Harry. Instead he searches Harry’s face, and locks on as soon as their eyes meet. "We’ll try again tomorrow."

"We might be dead tomorrow," Harry says hoarsely. His eyes are hooded and tired, face slack and void of any emotion, the only colour coming from the bruises left there to remind them both of who’s in charge. It’s a jarring sight.

Louis opens his mouth to argue, but closes it again, knowing he can’t promise that won’t happen. His eyes fall, and he’s left staring at a butterfly tattooed across Harry’s abdomen. Just below the tattoo, another bruise is blooming, and Louis has a hard time not letting his anger show. His jaw works as he lifts his hand towards the mark, and with a feathery light touch he traces its outlines.

"Louis," Harry murmurs, but Louis barely registers it, too caught up in the task at hand. Louis’ never had to fight to stay alive before. Never thought much about dying. It’s always been this out of reach concept that carries the same credibility as monsters hiding under his bed. It’s a scary thought, but it’s never been more than that.

Being reminded that they might not make it till tomorrow doesn’t make the concept of dying any less unbelievable, but it jolts him. 

Before his thoughts spiral any further, Louis forces his mind back to the now. He drags his gaze away from Harry’s bruise, retracts his hand and lets it fall.

He levels Harry with a calm gaze. "Don’t say that. We’ll be fine."

Louis suspects Harry wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead he murmurs, "yeah."

It may not be a promise, and it’s more a lie than a truth, but it relaxes Louis’ shoulders. Harry seems to calm, too, and Louis’ grateful. With that, he turns away, assuming Harry will follow him back to the mattress. A hand circling his wrist stops him, however, and before he knows it he’s face to face with Harry again.

Louis doesn’t get skittish when Harry moves his hand from Louis’ wrist and down to his hand, but it’s a near thing. The fear of dying is quickly replaced by a different kind of fear; one that Louis’ kept under lock and key for so long that he’s almost forgotten the feeling of it.

Louis restrains himself from shuddering as Harry steps closer, leaving only an inch between their bodies. The butterfly tattoo is blurry up-close, but Louis doesn’t take his gaze off it. 

It takes Louis two tries to find his voice, but all he can utter is a weak, "Harry."

Harry’s breath is warm on Louis’ forehead. "Is this okay?" he asks, voice rough but still gentle.

Louis closes his eyes and nods, even though his walls are rattling around him in warning. He ignores them in favor of bowing his head. Harry’s breath is replaced by his cheek against Louis’ brow. His skin is warm, and impossible to turn away from.

Harry’s hand starts moving then, trailing up Louis’ arm, leaving him a shivering mess by the time it stops to rest just under his chin. 

Harry tilts Louis’ chin up, and Louis couldn’t fight it if he tried, mind so dazed he has trouble standing on his own. The hand under his chin keeps him upright, but the kiss has him floating. 

Louis can’t recall ever being kissed like this before. It’s urgent and sensual, fiery and gentle, fierce and sweet, all at once. Their teeth clack and their tongues fight, and it’s anything but perfect, yet it’s the best thing Louis’ ever had. 

His walls would crack and waver with other men, but with Harry they crumble and turn to ash, and Louis doesn’t have the breath to react, nor does he feel the need to. 

It isn’t until the trapdoor creaks open that Louis becomes aware of what is happening, and he recoils from Harry like he’s been burnt. He avoids the puzzled look Harry gives him, and promptly steps away, eyes glued to the floor.

It takes a few tries to shake himself out of his daze, but in the end he manages it, turning away to find Zayn climbing down the ladder.

Zayn, oblivious to the tension in the room, strides over to the mattress and plumps down. "Still nothing," he updates, eyes drooping. "Anyone wanna take the next watch?"

"I’ll do it," Louis says without missing a beat. He picks up his slingshot, stuffing it into his waistband, and starts climbing up before anyone can say anything.

"Louis," Harry says as Louis’ pushing at the heavy trapdoor. He tries not to freeze, but he does so anyway, waiting for Harry’s next words. It’s an age before Harry says, "be careful."

Louis has a feeling Harry was going to say something else, but he’s grateful he let it go.

"Yeah," Louis replies, before hoisting himself up into the night.

-

Louis is weirdly content watching dark, unmoving shadows for hours. Once in a while he’s rewarded with a bird taking off from the ground, and his gaze follows the feathery creature until the darkness makes it impossible to keep track of. 

He’s been ripping grass from the dirt, piling each piece on top of one another until the grass tower topples over and he has to start again. 

It’s a small activity to keep his mind occupied, but not enough to ease the aching in his chest. Kissing Harry was a mistake. He hates himself for letting his guard down so quickly, so recklessly. The kiss may not mean that much to Harry, but to Louis it means giving up control. It means letting someone in just to watch them rip his heart out. It means inevitable abandonment, and Louis promised himself he wouldn’t ever go through that again. 

The soft knock under the trapdoor doesn’t startle him like it usually would have. He’s terrible at keeping watch, he realizes, given his thoughts are miles away. He answers the knock by knocking back, and waits.

A moment later Harry emerges, and it’s obvious climbing a ladder with a gunshot wound is a stupid thing to do. Louis is about to voice as much when Harry groans out, "Don’t say it."

Obediently, Louis closes his mouth. He helps Harry close the trapdoor, however.

Harry waddles around Louis, and plumps down in the grass next to him. He takes a few moments to catch his breath, seemingly exhausted by the climb.

Louis watches him for a moment before redirecting his gaze to his pile of grass. He should probably say something to ease the tension, but he doesn’t know what.

In the end, Harry beats him to it. "I’m sorry about before."

Louis is confused. "Why?"

"I didn’t mean to–" Harry starts, but stops himself. He seems to search for words for what feels like an eternity before he tries again. "I might have misread your signals, and I’m sorry."

"No," Louis says all too quickly, before pausing. He takes a breath, and continues. "No. I wanted to, I did. It’s just…" He gestures helplessly. He can feel Harry’s gaze, but he doesn’t look up. "It meant something to me."

The silence is crushing, and Louis lowers his head even further, staring at the pile of grass like it's about to go up in flames any minute now. When Harry still doesn’t say anything, Louis finally looks at him, instantly taken aback by his expression. He’s smiling, and he looks bashful as Louis meets his gaze. 

"Stop it," Louis says, and oddly enough rejection would hurt less than the warmth he’s facing now. At least then his heart would still be with him.

"What are you so afraid of, Louis?" Harry asks then, smile fading just a bit, and replaced by a slight frown. 

"Don’t pretend like that kiss was anything more than a spur of the moment kind of thing," Louis almost hisses the words out, but the ache building up in his chest makes it hard. "Just don’t."

"I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I’ve wanted to do that since you came at me with a knife," Harry says bluntly. 

The words sober Louis up a bit from his black and white thinking, but he can’t for the life of him recall Harry showing mutual attraction these past few days. Maybe friendliness, but nothing more.

"That’s a weird kink," Louis comments dryly, lazily tossing a piece of grass away.

"I can’t believe you’re kink shaming me," Harry gasps in feigned shock.

Louis grabs the entire pile of grass and chucks it at the other man. "Shut up." 

Harry’s laugh lasts only a short while before he contains it. Louis’ own smile turns somber as the silence stretches on. 

"I’ve been talking Zayn’s head off about you," Harry admits.

Louis can’t keep from gazing at Harry to read his expression. It’s earnest, crushingly so. Louis’ voice is so quiet when he speaks he can barely hear himself. "Why?"

Harry shrugs, but the answer is clear. "Because I’ve never met someone like you. Someone so kind and open. Someone so beautiful." The last sentence is tentative, like a school boy admitting to his friends he has a crush. A bashful smile follows.

Louis can’t help but joke. "I’m sure anyone would say that when their choices are me, a squirrel, and a mad cult leader."

Harry cocks his head like Louis’ making a good point. 

"How’s your leg?" Louis asks after a pause. "Any better?"

"I’m not bleeding out, so I reckon that’s a good sign," Harry answers jovially, easily allowing the subject to change. 

Louis hums. He thinks about how good of a team Harry and Zayn were earlier, how they barely had to exchange words to get Harry’s injury bandaged. It’s obvious they have a strong relationship, and Louis has to ask, "Why not Zayn?"

"Why not Zayn what?" Harry asks, a confused tilt to his voice.

Louis almost quirks a smile at his funny sentence. "You’re good together, is what I’m saying."

"Oh," Harry replies, and understanding replaces his frown. "No, Zayn and I are mates. Have been mates since we were kids. He’s a great guy, just… Not my type," Harry smirks, eyeing Louis.

"You’re both from here then?"

Harry shakes his head. "Neither of us are. Me and my mum moved here when I was like… Eight? Yeah, something like that. That’s when she bought the restaurant. And Zayn’s family’s got a cabin up here. He was supposed to spend a week there during the beginning of his semester, to get inspiration for his novel. And that’s when he first went to a meeting with the cult."

Louis idly wonders what kind of novel Zayn was writing, and if it had anything to do with throwing knives and dynamites. "How did he escape them? You never told me."

Harry thinks for a minute while pulling on his lower lip. "We escaped together. Grabbed whatever food and weapons we could. Found my bow in the cellar, all dusty from not having been used in years. Zayn took some knives from the cultists when they weren’t looking. And then when we thought everyone was asleep we ran.

"When Zayn and I were little we used to play in this bunker," Harry recalls, gazing at the trapdoor. "Mum said not to, but we did anyway. Built a fort down there. Zayn tried to bring the telly with him once but we couldn’t fit it through the trapdoor."

Harry smiles at the memory, which in turn makes Louis’ lips form a smile of its own. Harry continues, "So it made sense that this would be our hiding spot from the cultists until we could find a vehicle and get out of here to find some help."

Louis imagines eight year old Harry and Zayn laughing in the bunker, how stark of a contrast it is to how things are now. It’s enough to make his stomach churn. "They found you," Louis guesses, and Harry nods.

"It took them a day and a half, but one of them found us, yeah. Twice the size of me, old enough to be my father. He dragged Zayn out by his legs, tossed him to the ground and called him a traitor for leaving the Family. I remember how scared I was, and all I could think of was that we had to get away, no matter what.

"I had a knife on me, and before I could think better of it I stabbed the man right in the gut."

Louis tries to conceal his flinch, but Harry turns at the movement. 

"It would be easy to say they changed me, but," Harry says, faltering. "No one put that knife in my hand."

"You were protecting yourself," Louis says. "You were protecting the both of you."

"That’s what I keep telling myself," Harry muses. "And I hope it’s right."

Louis ponders for a moment, hesitant of asking his next question. "Did he… Um." 

"Die?" Harry guesses. "No. Got right back up like it was nothing at all and wrestled the knife out of my hands. Beast of a man, I’m telling you. I remember the first punch, but I can’t remember being punched in the face a second time, but Zayn told me about it. Woke up some hours later with bandages on my back in an unfamiliar cabin."

Louis recalls seeing Harry’s scar, stretching from the base of his neck and down his back. Though it sounds horrible, Louis’ glad Harry wasn’t conscious when he got it.

"Zayn was the one who got us out," Harry continues. "After that we moved around a lot more. When the roadblocks came up we needed someplace more permanent. Spent our days training and trying to find a way to get our home back. Learned how to survive. Then you came along," Harry finishes, smiling despite the tragedy.

Louis can understand why Harry was hesitant of coming back here, not only because of how close it is to the hamlet, but also because of its history. 

His own problems with attachment seem small compared to what Harry’s been through, yet Louis can’t shake his fears. If he was half as strong as Harry, maybe he wouldn’t have reacted like he did to the kiss. Maybe he would have cherished the moment, and refused to let it go. 

Harry’s hand is resting a mere inch from Louis’. In theory it would be easy to reach for it, but the pounding in Louis’ chest tells him otherwise. Maybe if he doesn’t look, he can do it. 

Carefully, Louis focuses his gaze on his fallen pile of grass, while his hand inches closer to Harry’s. He can’t see it, but he can feel it; how the touch sets his whole body on fire, beginning with a spark at the very tip of his pinky as it lightly brushes against skin that isn’t his own.

The trapdoor is thrown open at that exact moment, and Louis barely restrains himself from lashing out at the sudden movement. He does pull away, however, and just like that Harry’s skin is but a faint memory against his own. 

Zayn doesn’t seem to waste time climbing all the way out as he holds the walkie towards Louis. "Do you know a Niall?"

Frowning, Louis stares at the walkie. "Yes. Is that him?"

Before Zayn can answer, the walkie crackles. " _Louis, please respond_. _I don’t have much time._ "

Niall’s familiar voice has Louis lurching to his feet. When Zayn holds the walkie away from him, Louis says, "Give it to me, Zayn."

"Promise to be careful. It might be a trap," Zayn says.

"How can it? They can’t trace it. Give it here," Louis commands with an angry tone to his voice. 

Zayn shoots a look past Louis to Harry, but Louis doesn’t have time to decipher its meaning, thoughts going a million miles an hour. At last, Zayn hands Louis the walkie, but he keeps a watchful eye on him.

Louis pushes the button on the walkie. "Niall?"

The device buzzes for a moment, and it’s making Louis’ skin itch impatiently. Louis starts to wonder if maybe he was too late, when finally Niall responds. " _Where are ya?_ "

Louis opens his mouth to respond, then closes it abruptly. He shoots Zayn a look, and Zayn shakes his head. Niall might not be alone, and they both know that. 

"Is Liam with you?" Louis asks instead. "Are you both okay?"

" _We’re great,_ " is Niall’s response, and Louis doesn’t believe it for a second. " _Where can we meet ya? We want to go home._ "

Louis squeezes his eyes closed, tightening his grip on the walkie. There’s no way this isn’t a trick, and Louis knows that all too well by now. It’s likely the cultists are forcing Niall to say these things, and it’s making Louis want to cry and scream out in rage at the same time.

"Just let me know if you’re okay" Louis finally grits out.

It takes longer this time for Niall to respond, and the delay is making Louis jittery. After a moment the walkie cuts off, and the silence makes Louis’ stomach bottom out.

"Niall, are you there?" Louis stresses, but the reply doesn’t come no matter how long he waits. "Niall?"

"I don’t think he’s there anymore, mate," Zayn says quietly. "Maybe he’ll call you again later."

"Fuck," Louis mutters, glaring at the walkie in his hand, like that will make Niall come back again. 

"We shouldn’t have kept it," Harry comments, but his tone is gentle. "They’re using your friends to get to us."

"I hate this," Louis mutters. "I hate them."

Harry gets to his feet, careful not to put too much weight on his left leg. "We can’t sit around until my leg has healed. Wait," Harry says, when Louis starts to argue. "We can still finish planning, and Zayn can give your more combat training. You two can scout the outposts, loot them for as many weapons as you can. The less guns they have, the better our chances are at defeating them. If you do this while it’s dark out, and if you do it quietly, chances of pulling this off are good."

"I’ll grab some weapons," Zayn says before disappearing back into the bunker.

Louis stares as the trapdoor closes, realizing that they’re actually doing this now. He turns to Harry and asks, "Will you be okay on your own?"

"Of course," Harry says, his smile reassuring before it disappears again. "I’m the one who should be worrying about you."

Louis pulls his slingshot out of his waistband. "Got this, don’t I? And if things turn south, I’ll just hide behind Zayn."

His words make Harry breathe a laugh, but he can still see the concern in his eyes. "You should bring a gun as well. Just in case."

Louis fiddles with the slingshot’s rubber band. "I don’t like guns," he admits.

"I noticed," Harry answers quietly, stepping closer. "But I’d feel better knowing you have it in case something happens."

Louis gazes up at Harry. "Okay," he murmurs, though he has no intention of actually using the gun. It visibly relaxes the other man, though. Louis gives him a reassuring smile of his own before he turns to climb down the ladder. 

Zayn’s already strapping on a backpack when Louis gets down, seemingly ready to go, so Louis quickly finds the gun and stuffs it into his waistband.

"We’ll go to the outpost on the north side of the hamlet," Zayn says, pulling out a map from his pocket to show Louis. The other outposts are closer, but Louis guesses it’s a good idea not to start off at the outposts near the bunker.

"You should bring your phone," Zayn says as he’s refolding the map. "You might get some good footage."

"Yeah," Louis agrees, and goes to pick that up, as well. "What’s the plan after we’ve looted the outposts, though? How do we get into the hamlet?"

Zayn shrugs. "It’s too early to tell. First we need to pull this off. Might be weeks before we can get into the hamlet."

Louis stills. "Weeks? What about Niall and Liam? We can’t just–"

"We have to," Zayn interrupts, holding up a hand. "If we go in there now guns blazing, we’ll get killed."

"And if we wait, they might be the ones who get killed," Louis shoots back. 

Zayn levels him with an unimpressed stare.

"Days," Louis meddles.

It’s an age before Zayn’s expression softens. "The sooner we weaken their defences, the sooner we can go in. But," Zayn holds up a finger before Louis can speak. "We’re going in quietly. All we need from the hamlet is some wifi to upload the footage. If it spreads, it won’t take long before someone has to come up here and sort this shit out."

The plan isn’t bulletproof, but Louis nods anyway. He intends to get his friends out either way, even if guns start blazing. But he’s got to file that thought away for later, so he does, and follows Zayn out of the bunker.

Harry’s sitting in the grass just by the trapdoor, keeping a watchful gaze out for any threats. He turns at their return, however.

"We’ll be back by dawn," Zayn promises, handing Harry one of his knives. "You’re gonna be alright?"

Harry looks at Louis as he replies, "Yes."

Zayn accepts that by walking away, not looking back to see if Louis’ following him. Louis doesn’t at first, gaze locked with Harry. His fingers itch to reach out to him, his tongue aching to say something, but he doesn’t know what.

"Go," Harry says then. "And stay safe."

Louis accepts that by bowing his head in a nod, backing away. Just as he turns away, he casts one last glance Harry’s way, and then he’s gone.


	6. Mad, Mad Heart

The outpost is a forty minute walk from the bunker, and not a single word has been exchanged between Zayn and Louis since they left. Louis hasn’t really minded the silence, too busy replaying his and Harry’s kiss over and over in his head until the whole incident doesn’t feel real anymore. 

But it was real. Harry’s hand under Louis’ chin was real. Harry is real, and so are Louis’ feelings for him, no matter how hard he tries to push them away. He’s tried telling himself that the only reason he feels so close to Harry is because they’ve literally almost died together. However, he’s about to enter enemy territory with Zayn, and his feelings for Zayn are grim in comparison.

Harry told Louis earlier that he’d talked Zayn’s head off about him, and Louis’ more than a little curious about what was said. So he clears his throat, a sound out of place in the serenity of the wilderness, and asks, "Zayn?"

"Mhm," is what he gets in reply, the other man walking three steps ahead of him.

"Harry said he talked to you about me earlier," Louis says, trying to keep his tone indifferent.

Zayn doesn’t slow down, but his head turns a bit to show he’s listening. "He did."

"Well," Louis says, wringing his hands. "What did he say?"

"You can ask him," Zayn scoffs. 

"I’m asking you," Louis retorts.

Zayn slows his pace enough for Louis to catch up with him, and Louis doesn’t miss the entertained look on the other man’s face. Louis finds Zayn hard to read sometimes, but whenever Harry’s a subject between them, something in his eyes light up. 

"So?" Louis pushes. 

Zayn gives a short laugh. "He likes you."

Louis knew that, but hearing someone else say it is still a shock to his system. He’s not sure if it’s in a good way or bad way. "Yeah, but… What else?"

"Fuck’s sake, Louis. He likes you, it’s not that complicated," Zayn says, but his tone is amused despite his words.

It is, Louis wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead he asks, "But is it like a friendly like, or a fifty percent maybe like-like, or does he have a thing for me?"

"You’re giving me a headache," Zayn comments dryly, before adding, "he has a thing for you. And from what I can tell, you have a thing for him as well. I don’t have a thing for either of you, so please stop bothering me."

"I don’t like you much, either," Louis says.

"Good, then."

They walk in silence for a while, but after Louis’ had time to chew the information over, he asks, "why don’t you like me?"

A surprised laugh escapes Zayn’s lips, and he punches Louis’ shoulder playfully. "I’m joking, Louis. You’re overthinking things."

"Yeah," Louis admits, a hint of a smile playing on his own lips. 

"We’re almost there," Zayn says, then, and Louis looks ahead to see if he can spot the outpost. It’s still pitch black outside, and there are no lights in sight. 

After a few minutes, however, he can make out the tiny cabin, and Zayn gestures for them to change their course.

"We need to get to higher grounds," Zayn explains at Louis’ quizzical look. "Brought some binoculars for scoping the place out before we enter." 

They climb a small hill by the outskirts of the outpost, and it allows for a full overview of the area. The trees give them cover while they take turns looking through the binoculars, and Louis spots two cultists by the entrance of the cabin. Zayn points out a cultist smoking by himself away from the others, and another one inside a small shed on the backside of the cabin.

"There might be more people inside the cabin," Zayn says, stuffing the binoculars into his backpack. "If this outpost is anything like the one you and Harry were held, the weapons should be in the shed."

"So what’s the plan?" Louis asks, pulling out his phone to snap a couple of pictures of the outpost. 

"It’s a clear path to the shed, so all we need to do is take down the cultist inside quietly. Shouldn’t be too hard."

"Piece of cake," Louis says easily, but his pulsing veins are telling him that a million things can go wrong. He doesn’t dwell on it, though, and follows Zayn down the hill.

They crouch down in the tree line behind the cabin, leaving the lone cultist in the shed the only enemy in their sight. He’s got his back to the door, attention on something on the workbench in front of him.

"After me," Zayn whispers, and Louis nods. 

Quietly, Zayn starts moving towards the shed on careful feet, head down. Louis copies his movements to the best of his ability, but keeps a watchful eye out for other cultists. 

Once Zayn is inside the shed, he doesn’t hesitate before he grabs the man. He clamps his right hand over the cultists mouth, stifling his surprised yelp, and squeezes his left arm around his neck, choking him.

It doesn’t take long before the cultist sags in Zayn’s hold, and Zayn lays the unconscious body down onto the floor carefully.

Louis toes around the cultist, and is relieved to find weapons hanging from the walls. He takes a few photos of that as well, and turns his phone off once he’s satisfied.

"Jackpot," Zayn whispers. 

Louis finds some bags under the workbench, and hands one to Zayn. They work quickly and in silence as they fill the bags with weapons. Zayn peeks out the window once in a while to make sure the coast is clear. 

They’ve got three bags filled by the time they’re finished, but just as they’re about to leave, Zayn squats down, dragging Louis with him.

The cultist from before who was smoking is walking past the shed, and Louis holds his breath waiting for him to pass. Except, he doesn’t pass, instead he stops right in front of the shed, and lights a new cigarette. He’s got his back turned, but there’s no way Louis and Zayn can get past him without being spotted. 

"I can’t take him out," Zayn whispers, and Louis can see why. The cultist is standing out in the open, and if Zayn comes up behind him, there’s a chance someone else might spot him. 

Then Louis gets an idea. "Hold on," he whispers, and pulls his slingshot out of his waistband. It takes a few moments to find a rock in the darkness. Once he’s got one, he crawls over to the window on the opposite side of the door. A car is parked a few meters away from the shed, and it’s a good of a target as any.

He pulls the rubber back, aims and fires the rock. It crashes through the windshield of the vehicle, the car alarm blaring to life. He ducks down again, and looks over his shoulder to see that the cultist is no longer in their way. He can hear boots rushing across gravel towards the commotion.

"What was that?" someone shouts.

Louis picks up a weapon bag. "Let’s go."

Zayn doesn’t have to be told twice, and he takes the two other bags in his hands. They run towards the tree line, and don't slow down until the sound of the car alarm is far into the distance.

"You’re bloody brilliant, Louis," Zayn says, out of breath. "Nicely done."

Louis’ heart is hammering, his hands are shaking, but despite that, he smiles in triumph. 

The sun is about to come up as Louis and Zayn arrive back at the bunker. Louis’ arms ache from carrying the gun bag, but he doesn’t think he’s allowed to complain, given Zayn is carrying the other two.

Harry is still sitting outside as they approach, and Louis idly wonders if the archer has moved at all since they left. 

"Shit," Harry marvels, eyeing the bags. "Everything go okay?"

"It did," Zayn replies, before scurrying past Harry to get the trapdoor open. 

Louis drops his bag, and takes a moment to work the muscles in his shoulders. He waits until Zayn’s disappeared down the bunker before he asks, "How'd things go here?"

"It’s been quiet," Harry says, before yawning. "I saw a butterfly."

"You did?" Louis feigns astonishment, which in turn makes Harry snicker.

"It was black and orange," Harry explains, and draws the outlines of a butterfly in the air with his finger. "Landed on my shoe. But he left pretty quickly. I don’t think he liked me very much."

"It was a 'he', then?" Louis wonders, and before thinking it through he says, "I should be jealous."

"You should," Harry drawls, smirking. 

Zayn calls from the bunker, "When you two are done flirting, can someone help me with these bags?"

"Sorry," Harry calls back. Louis would do the same if he wasn’t busy willing his blush away. It isn’t until Harry gets to his feet and reaches for the bag that Louis starts moving again.

"I’ve got it," Louis says, grabbing the handle before Harry can. Their shoulders bump in the process, and Louis splutters an apology before promptly focusing his gaze on the trapdoor. 

Zayn’s climbed halfway up, so Louis hands him the bag. Louis takes note of the entertained look that’s back on Zayn’s face, and he feels a sudden urge to rip it off and stomp on it. To Louis’ dismay, that wouldn’t be possible, so instead he sends Zayn a warning glare.

"We should eat," Harry pipes up from behind Louis. "There’s still some sausages left in the cooler."

Louis hadn’t realized how hungry he was before Harry mentioned it. "Sounds good," he says.

"Will you help me make a fire?" Harry asks, so Louis turns to him and nods.

They don’t have to walk far from the bunker to gather wood, but the process of actually lighting the fire is a whole different story. Harry’s manically rolling a twig between his fingers, but all that comes of it is a coin sized cloud of smoke. 

Zayn joins them after a few minutes of this, but as soon as he sees what Harry’s doing he rolls his eyes and reenters the bunker. A moment later he’s back.

"You could have just asked," Zayn comments, before chucking a lighter to Harry.

"Oh," is all Harry says, holding up the lighter like he’s found meaning in life, and it takes effort for Louis not to laugh.

"I distinctly remember you telling me that you were not a caveman," Louis recalls amused. "But I’m not so sure anymore."

"Shut up," Harry smiles, eyes at the task at hand as he lights the fire. "Go get the sausages. Shoo," he commands, waving.

Louis obliges, disappearing down the bunker. The cooler has become a makeshift table overnight, and Louis sets a flashlight and a bag of crisps aside before opening it. 

Once Louis resurfaces with the sausages, he finds Harry and Zayn talking quietly by the campfire. They stop, however, when they spot him.

"What?" Louis asks, and his good mood fizzles under their gazes. He’s clawing at his brain trying to figure out what could have gone wrong in such a short period of time, but he comes up short.

Harry doesn’t leave Louis in the dark for much longer though. "Something may have happened while you two were out," he admits, looking sheepish.

Louis suspects Harry didn’t want to tell Louis until he had told Zayn, and the thought makes Louis feel a bit left out. It shouldn’t, given Louis is an outsider, but it still stings a bit.

"What was it?" Louis asks in an even tone.

"The cult leader called," Harry says at length, pulling the walkie out from his jacket. "I didn’t answer, but um."

Louis stares back at Harry’s gaze, patiently waiting for him to finish. The gnawing in the pit of his stomach tells him the news isn’t good. Louis crosses his arms.

Finally, Harry finds his words. "He kept asking for you," he finishes, looking at Louis.

Louis frowns at that, but he can see why as he recalls his meeting with the Creator. "He wanted me to join the Family. Maybe he’s still trying to persuade me."

"Don’t let him," Harry says, but the warning is unnecessary. Louis knows his place, and it isn’t with the Creator.

"I won’t," Louis promises, but something in Harry’s eyes tells Louis there’s something else Harry's holding back.

Louis’ about to voice as much when Harry beats him to it, "He didn’t only ask for you, he… Talked about you, and how alike you two are. And I may have heard something that you don’t want me to know."

Louis stills at that, and he shoots the walkie a glare that could freeze hell, like the Creator is going to feel it. He’s not going to ask what the Creator shared, because he has a pretty good idea what it was. Instead he says, "He thinks I’m weak."

Harry’s voice is quiet when he responds, like it’s for Louis’ ears only. "I don’t."

Louis’ too furious to appreciate Harry’s words, and he doesn’t think twice before spinning around, storming off into the forest. He knows he shouldn’t go far, but he needs some space. He plumps down on a fallen tree just out of sight.

He counts quietly to ten, willing himself to calm down. Just as he’s about to do it again, Harry’s voice drawls an "Hey," from behind him, and Louis startles.

"Fuck," Louis breathes. He should have learned by now that Harry moves around like a ghost, but he was too focused on breathing that he didn’t stop to think one of the boys had gone after him.

"Sorry," Harry murmurs, and Louis’ not sure if it was for startling him, or for what the Creator had said. "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine," Louis lies. 

Harry sits down next to him, and fiddles with his fingers for a while before saying, "I meant it. I don’t think what happened to you makes you weak. I didn’t share any details with Zayn, either, so don’t worry."

Louis closes his eyes against the sudden burn, swallowing hard. No matter how many times Harry tells him he’s not, Louis does feel weak. It’s not just in his head, though. Thinking back on what happened physically weakens his body. His chest feels heavy and it aches like it’s starved. "How much do you know?"

Harry sounds gentle when he speaks. "I know you’ve been cheated on. And I know it still hurts."

Louis blinks his eyes open, staring at his hands. "Back in London it wasn’t really a secret. I think maybe I was the last to know. Liam was the one who told me in the end," Louis says. His knees bounce off the stem. 

"I’m sorry to hear that," Harry murmurs. "You deserve better."

"Do I?" Louis asks, breathing a humourless laugh. "Did the Creator mention that I stayed with him despite it?" Louis glances at Harry. 

"He didn’t, no," Harry says. "But I can understand why you chose to stay."

Louis scoffs, not believing him for a second.

"I’m serious. When my parents split I saw how hard it was for my mum to let him go. They got back together again before they finally filed for divorce." Harry is as ernest as ever, words carefully thought through before they leave his lips. "And don’t think that makes you weak. Quite the contrary, if you ask me."

Louis watches Harry for a moment, searching his face for a lie. He can’t find one, and in that moment he realizes that he trusts Harry. He’s trusted him with his life so far, so why not trust him with everything he has? 

"I left him six months ago," Louis says, wanting to prove to Harry somehow that he’s over his ex. "Found him in our bed with our next door neighbor. I kept the flat."

Harry gives him half a smile after that last sentence.

Louis allows the silence to drag on for only a short period of time before he starts feeling agitated from having shared so much, and his feet are hammering the stem so hard bark falls off. 

Harry allows the restlessness only for a moment, before he lays his hand on Louis’ knee, stilling it. 

The other leg slows down soon after, and Louis stares at Harry’s hand. He can feel its warmth through the fabric of his jeans. Tentatively, he lifts his own hand, and hoovers it over Harry’s for a moment before carefully laying it onto the other man’s skin.

Harry doesn’t move a muscle while Louis brushes his fingers between Harry’s knuckles, and Louis’ grateful for his patience. He lifts his hand slightly as Louis coaxes the palm of his hand, however, giving room for Louis to finally tangle their fingers together.

Ewan’s hands were always dry, his nails a bit too long for Louis’ liking. His hands were also the same size as Louis’, whereas Harry’s swallow Louis’ hand whole. 

Everything about Harry is warm – his smile, his presence, and his hands. His thumb brushes tiny circles on the back of Louis’ hand. It gives Louis a shiver down his spine. A good shiver, he thinks, and he realizes he’s smiling.

Louis glances at Harry, and his face falls when he sees him frowning. "What?"

"I just can’t understand why anyone would want to hurt you," Harry murmurs, gaze locking with his. "It doesn’t make any sense to me."

Louis searches for the right response for a while, but can’t find one. Instead, he simply says, "Thank you."

"I would never hurt you," Harry vows, and he doesn’t even blink when he makes his promise. 

A thank you wouldn’t be the correct response to that, so Louis does the next best thing. His head tilts back as his lips meet Harry’s, and Harry leans down into it at once, chasing it until he’s the one tilting his head back. 

This kiss feels sweeter than the last. Their tongues dance instead of fight, and it’s slow and warm. Warm, warm, warm. Louis untangles their fingers in favor of moving his hands to the base of Harry’s neck, and before he knows it he’s deepening the kiss, his body moving to close any and all gaps between them.

Louis’ legs move for him, and he’s only standing for a second before getting into Harry’s lap. Somehow, despite his hazy mind, Louis remembers to leave Harry’s injured thigh untouched, as he shifts all his weight to Harry’s healthy leg.

The back of Louis’ neck starts to warm, and he barely has time to register that the sun is rising behind him before Harry lifts him up. Their kiss doesn’t break as Harry moves them, and Louis doesn’t know, nor does he care, where they’re going.

Only a moment later, Louis’ back hits against tree bark. Harry’s got one leg between Louis’, and Louis leans into the friction. His mind is blissfully unfocused, like the whole world has come to a halt just for this moment, and Louis’ not going to waste it. Their lips separate for a split second, and Louis rushes to bring them back together. 

Louis kisses like he’s got everything to lose, and then some. He can feel Harry’s dick hardening against his hips, which sends a hard rush to his own.

"Harry," Louis breathes against his lips, lips sore but still wanting more.

Harry’s mouth moves to Louis’ ear, breath hot. "We shouldn’t be doing this right now."

Louis licks his lips, dry from panting. "I know." 

They stand like that for a moment, catching their breaths. Louis had forgotten how exposed they were, and he doesn’t want to think about what would've happened if the cultists had seen them.

It may not be the right place, but Louis still wants it, achingly so. It doesn’t help when Harry leaves a trail of soft kisses down Louis’ neck, nor does it help when Louis grinds against Harry’s thigh in response. What does help, however, is the sound of boots approaching, and Harry’s lips leave Louis’ skin immediately.

Harry’s stance is full alarm at first, but it visibly relaxes when Zayn appears. 

"Breakfast?" Zayn emphasizes once Harry’s taken a step away from Louis. 

Harry swoops his fringe from his eyes. "Yeah, we’re coming."

"Right," Zayn replies at length before promptly leaving again. 

Louis’ face is burning.

Harry’s expression is sheepish when he faces Louis again, his crooked smile apologetic. "Shall we go?"

Louis blinks a few times, heart still pounding. "Give me a few more seconds."

"Okay."

A cold shower would be nice, Louis muses. However, they don’t have that luxury right now, so instead he closes his eyes and clears his head. He leans back against the tree, trying to ignore the ghost of Harry’s lips against his.

Once he’s ready, he opens his eyes and gives Harry a small nod. Harry’s dimple pops when he smiles back, and Louis’ first instinct is to kiss it, so he does. It only makes the dimple grow deeper.

"Come on," Harry smiles, and Louis follows him back.

Breakfast isn’t as awkward as Louis assumed it would be. Zayn hardly seems fazed by what he witnessed earlier, more focused on his breakfast. However, the moment they finish eating, he gets that amused expression on his face.

"So," Zayn starts, but he doesn’t elaborate. Instead he settles on giving one significant look after another between Louis and Harry, and Louis can only take it for a couple of seconds before he lurches to his feet.

"I need more training," Louis decides, glaring at Zayn. "Come on."

Louis doesn’t look behind him to see if Zayn’s following him, and it isn’t until he’s a good hundred meters from the campfire before he realizes a little too late that Zayn is right behind him, fists up and ready. Louis ducks away too late, and the blow explodes against his jaw.

"I wasn’t ready," Louis complains.

Zayn shrugs, but doesn’t lower his fists. "Do I need to say it?"

"What?" Louis touches his tender jaw carefully, wondering how something can hurt so much and not make him bleed.

Zayn’s answer comes as a second punch, and Louis curses.

"Always be ready," Zayn says, rolling his eyes.

They train until the sun has moved behind the trees, and Louis’ bones feel like jelly. He drags Zayn with him to the nearest river, and they clean themselves up in silence. When they get back to camp, Harry’s sitting outside the bunker, remaking the fire.

"The cooler’s almost empty," Harry says in lieu of hello. "I can go hunting tomorrow."

Zayn plops down in the grass, and Louis follows suit. 

"Is your leg getting any better?" Zayn asks. 

"It is," Harry replies. "Are you hitting another outpost tonight?"

Zayn looks over to Louis. "I think this one needs some rest first, but that’s the plan, yeah."

"'m not that tired," Louis says, but even he can hear how slurred his words are getting. 

In the end they sleep in shifts. Louis and Zayn get the first two hours, given they are the ones who had the least rest, and once Harry swaps with them, Zayn and Louis sit outside to keep watch.

Zayn’s sharpening his knives again, and Louis’ practicing his aim with the slingshot. It’s getting better by the hour, and right now he’s shooting down pinecones from the treetops. Louis can probably hit moving targets as well now. He asked Zayn to help him test that theory, but Zayn had declined, claiming the slingshot is as deadly as a .44 Magnum.

"Harry said the slingshot wasn’t deadly," Louis argues.

"It wasn’t," Zayn says. "Until you learned how to use it, that is. You’re getting quite good at it, and I’m not about to risk dying just so you can show off."

"I’m not showing off," Louis says just as he shoots down another pinecone. He grins in triumph, and Zayn snorts. 

"D’you mind waking Harry up?" Zayn asks, eyes trained on his knives. "We should get going."

"Yeah." Louis stuffs the slingshot into his waistband, and heaves the trapdoor open before climbing down. 

He hears Harry’s soft snores before he sees him. Louis tiptoes over to the mattress and crouches down next to Harry, and takes a moment just to watch him for a bit. He finds himself wondering yet again what kind of dream Harry’s having. He hopes it’s a good one, though he hates the fact that he has to drag him out of it.

"Harry," Louis says softly, nudging the other man’s shoulder.

Something in Louis’ heart melts at the sleepy sounds Harry makes as a response, and he smiles. 

"Zayn and I are leaving in a minute," Louis continues. "You okay with keeping watch while we’re gone?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbles, and blinks the sleep from his eyes. "I’m up."

It takes Harry a bit of scrambling before he gets to his feet, and Louis gets up, too. Harry stands still and watches Louis for a moment, before he abruptly walks over to the weapon bags to rummage.

Louis’ about to ask when Harry finally pulls out a gun and hands it over to Louis.

"To keep you safe," Harry explains, much like he’d done the day before.

The gun sits heavy in Louis’ hand, but he says, "thank you."

Harry’s smile is crooked, eyes bleary from sleep. He helps Louis pack the rest of the things he and Zayn needs for their trip, before following Louis outside.

Zayn accepts the backpack Louis offers him with a nod, and he bids Harry a "see you later," before he starts walking away. Just like the day before, Louis hangs back with Harry. 

"I’ll see you at dawn," Louis promises. "Then maybe I’ll join you when you go hunting."

Harry grins. "It’s a date."

Louis rolls his eyes fondly, and turns to leave. A split second later he turns back to Harry, and gets up on his toes to kiss him. It’s quick and maybe a bit hard, yet it’s as sweet as ever. 

"Bye," Louis breathes.

Harry replies once Louis start walking away. "See ya."

Louis has to jog to catch up with Zayn, and the two of them spend the walk in silence yet again.

-

Louis and Zayn return just as the sun is rising. This time they only have one bag of weapons with them, but they found a bunch of medical supplies as well. The only problem they ran into was that the shed was locked, but Louis was not surprised when Zayn knew how to pick it.

Harry welcomes them with a cheery smile, and finds them both a bottle of water.

Louis sits down to take slow sips. "Did the Creator call again?"

"He did," Harry answers. "He asked for you again. But he didn’t say anything else."

Louis finishes his water. "I would have given up if I were him. I’m not joining him. I thought my fist to his face settled that."

Harry sputters. "You punched him? You punched the cult leader?" His eyes are like two full moons.

"I thought I told you." As Louis says it, he realizes he didn’t. 

"I think I would have remembered," Harry says, glancing at Zayn. Zayn doesn’t look as shocked, but Louis doesn’t think anything can rock that man. His gaze is as stony as ever, but his lips turn up a bit.

"That’s proper badass," Harry praises, and Louis feels more than a bit smug.

Louis helps Zayn sort through their loot after, and once they’re finished Harry comes down to the bunker to collect his bow for their hunting trip.

Louis’ never hunted animals before, and is as clueless about that as he was about self defence. He debates for a while about which weapon to bring, and holds the slingshot up to Harry in question.

"Too messy," Harry says. "We’ll take turns with the bow. I’ll teach you."

"Thanks," Louis says, but he can’t get the image of a rock hitting a squirrel at the speed of a bullet out of his head. 

They bid Zayn goodbye and start walking south – away from the hamlet. It’s sunny out, and Louis left his jacket in the bunker in hopes of getting a tan. He inhales the fresh air as they walk in silence. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, like it can be when Louis walks with Zayn. 

Harry’s leg seems better. Louis takes note of the way he doesn’t limp anymore, and he’s glad. Zayn helped Harry change his bandages before they left, and Louis got a peek at the wound. It didn’t look bad, but it will leave a scar.

Harry slows his pace after a few more minutes, and comes to a halt, staring at something ahead. Louis follows his line of sight and spots a hare. It’s sitting near a bush, oblivious to the two men watching it.

Soundlessly, Harry pulls an arrow from the quiver. He whispers, "Do you wanna try?"

"What?" Louis whispers back, suspecting his skills with the bow will only spook the hare away. "I’d miss it."

"I’ll help, here," Harry says, and holds the bow out for Louis, who stares at it like it’s an alien, but accepts it nonetheless. A moment later, Harry’s hand is at the small of Louis’ back, and it trails its way up his back, and down his left arm until it’s holding Louis’ hand to the bow.

Harry’s breath is tickling Louis’ ear as he whispers, "Stand a bit straighter."

Louis rolls his shoulders back, and does as he’s told. 

Harry’s other hand comes up on Louis’ right side with the arrow. Louis can feel Harry’s chest rising and sinking against his back as he’s shown how to hold the arrow.

"Keep your eyes on the target." Harry helps Louis drag the bowstring back, and it isn’t until now that Louis realizes how much strength it takes. "Breathe. Whenever you’re ready, fire on an exhale."

Louis breathes in and out a couple of times, his eyes never leaving the target. When he feels like the arrow is steady enough, and he is steady enough, he fires.

The arrow shoots through the air, spiking the hare right in the back. Louis watches in stunned silence at the dead animal, and barely notices Harry’s left his side to go and collect it.

"Good job," Harry praises, grinning from ear to ear.

Louis blinks, glancing at the hare, and then at the bow still resting in his hands. "I got it," he breathes.

"You did," Harry confirms. "Let’s get back, I’m starving."

Louis still can’t believe he hit his target the first time he shot a bow, and his mind is still buzzing when they return to the bunker. They sit down by the campfire, and Harry teaches Louis how to skin the hare. Surprisingly, Louis doesn’t find it as nauseating as he thought he would.

"Hare tastes better than squirrel," Louis decides once they start eating. 

"Still not better than pizza, though," Zayn complains, mournfully picking at his food. 

"You better eat up," Louis says sternly. "That hare is probably the greatest achievement of my life."

Zayn rolls his eyes, but proceeds to take another bite, and Louis flashes a smug smile. 

"Which outpost are we looting tonight?" Louis asks, chewing. 

"I marked it on the map," Zayn says, and shifts a bit as he pulls the map out of his back pocket, handing it to Louis.

Harry gets to his feet to peek over Louis’ shoulder at the map, and says, "I can go with you tonight. My leg is much better. Maybe we can loot two outposts?"

Zayn thinks for a bit, then finally says, "Okay. I’ll take the one that’s marked, and you’ll take," the last word is said at length as he moves over to point at a circle on the map, "this one. They’re fairly close together."

"Sounds good," Harry says. "We need to rest up first."

"I’ll take the first watch, then," Zayn says, taking the map from Louis’ hands. The entertained look on Zayn’s face is poorly concealed. "You two get some rest."

Louis could snort, but he doesn’t. Instead he finishes his dinner in silence, before following Harry down the bunker. 

Hanging back, Louis watches as Harry takes off his jacket, bundling it up as a makeshift pillow. He gets caught up watching Harry’s biceps, eyes locked on his tattooed skin. A mermaid, a rose, a ship, an anchor. Two hands shaking. Louis wonders when Harry had time to get all of his tattoos. He must have visited his sister in London often, because it doesn’t make sense to have a tattoo shop in this area.

"Louis?" Harry’s voice startles Louis from his thoughts, though his voice is soft. 

Louis blinks. "Sorry." 

Quickly, he takes off his own jacket and bundles it like Harry did. His gaze is fixed on the small mattress, and he can’t see how it will fit them both.

However, Harry sits down on the mattress, and scootches over to make room for Louis. "Come on, then," he says, patting the spot next to him.

"I can sleep on the floor," Louis offers. 

Harry pats the free spot again. "I’m not letting you sleep on concrete."

Knowing he’s lost the battle, Louis does as he’s told and lies down on the mattress. He has to be on his side to make them both fit, and before he knows it his face is but an inch away from Harry’s.

"Hi," Harry says, grinning. He’s blurry up close.

Louis snickers. "Hello."

"I’m Harry Styles," Harry continues, and makes a show of how much of an effort it is to hold his hand out between them.

Louis giggles and shakes Harry’s hand. "Pleasure," he politely replies, retracting his hand. "You never told me your last name."

"I didn’t," Harry muses, biting his lip. "What’s yours?"

"Tomlinson."

"That’s nice," Harry supplies. A pause. "Do you have a middle name?"

In the end, neither of them get much sleep. Instead, Harry asks Louis about everything from which city he was born in to how he takes his tea. Louis makes sure that Harry has to answer the exact same question, and he finds himself hanging onto every word, storing the information away someplace in his heart.

Louis’ disoriented when Zayn wakes him. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep. Harry’s blinking his eyes open next to him, and the arm around Louis’ waist disappears when the former goes to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"It’s your turn to keep watch," Zayn reminds them.

Louis is the first to get up, taking his jacket with him to pull on. He’s cold without Harry’s body close to him.

It’s chilly outside as well, the sun long gone from the sky and replaced by stars. They shine brighter tonight than he can remember ever seeing them, and he’s entranced by their beauty for a moment before Harry climbs out of the bunker to join him.

"Stargazing?" Harry asks, looking up.

Louis nods, tilting his head back to look directly up. "They’re barely visible in London."

He can hear Harry humming, but doesn’t see him moving until Harry’s right in front of him. Carefully, Harry grabs ahold of Louis’ chin and tilts it down until they’re face to face.

Harry’s gaze is fixed on Louis’ cheek, and he brushes his thumb over it. "You have a constellation on your cheek. Right here," Harry murmurs. 

Louis stands very still as Harry leans in, ghosting his lips over the freckles near Louis’ mouth. 

"I hadn’t noticed," Louis manages in a whisper.

Harry hums. "They’re beautiful. Like you." With that, Harry’s lips move to find Louis’, and they kiss slowly and tenderly for what feels like forever in Louis’ head.

Louis warms up quickly after that.

-

By the time Harry goes to wake Zayn up, clouds have drifted across the sky, coming to a stop right above them. The moon is still visible, and it gives Louis a little light outside the bunker. He’s got his hood up, Harry’s absence leaving him shivering in the cold night. 

The trapdoor creaks open, and Louis gets to his feet. Harry hands Louis a backpack, and Zayn pulls out the map for them to go over once more. 

"We meet back here," Zayn says, pointing at the map.

"What if one of us run into trouble? Say you get caught, how are we supposed to know?" Louis asks.

Refolding the map, Zayn answers, "you’ll know if I don’t show up at our meeting point within thirty minutes. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that."

The outpost is a twenty minute walk, and Louis spends it listening to Harry talk about growing up here. He talks about the hunting trips with his father, recalling a day when he shot down a bird from the sky with an arrow.

Louis’ own childhood was a stark contrast; it was just he and his mum for years until his sisters and brother came along. While Harry spent his days hunting with his father, helping his mum out at the restaurant, and playing in the woods, Louis spent his ringing doorbells and running away. Louis remembers playing football in the streets, stealing cigarettes from the local shop when he was twelve and getting a rollicking about it from his mum after. 

However, he wasn’t all that bad. Once he was a big brother he became more responsible, always looking after his siblings to make sure they didn’t do the stupid things he did. 

"Do you miss them?" Harry asks, then elaborates, "your siblings."

Louis tilts his head in thought. "Of course. Lottie lives in London so we see each other a lot, but the rest of them still live in Donny. But I visit them as often as I can." After a few moments of consideration he adds, "we were supposed to drive through Doncaster on our way back from camping, me and the lads. They were expecting us yesterday."

It’s almost enough to make him nauseous imagining how many times his sisters have tried to call him. They had plans to go out and have dinner. 

Harry hums beside him, and a moment later Louis feels a hand on his. Harry squeezes it once, and that’s all it takes to make his shoulders relax again. 

Zayn is walking a few steps ahead of them, but stops after another couple of minutes. 

"This is where we meet up again," Zayn says, turning around. "Thirty minutes. If someone is not back here by then, assume the worst."

Louis blinks at Zayn’s bluntness, but doesn’t argue. Zayn nods once before spinning around again, heading towards the outpost.

"We’re this way," Harry says, pointing in a direction a bit east of where Zayn is going. "Come on."

Harry walks ahead, and Louis follows his soundless steps all the way to the outskirts of the cabin.

"I see two guarding the driveway," Harry says once they’ve stopped, pointing a finger towards two cultists sitting on a fence northeast of their position. 

Louis nods, scanning the area until his gaze lands on a shed. It’s positioned on the other side of the cabin, but half of it is visible from where Harry and Louis are. 

"We have to go around," Louis says, and makes his way around the plot, the trees and the black sky giving them cover. Harry is as ghostlike in his movements as always, and if Louis didn’t already know that he would assume Harry wasn’t following him.

They spot another cultist guarding the shed. Her rifle is resting in her hands, the barrel pointed towards the ground. She has a bored look on her face, or maybe she’s just dead tired, Louis muses. Either way she’s an obstacle, and Louis looks to Harry for suggestions.

Harry shrugs his shoulders. "I could shoot her with a tranquilizer, but we’d have to hide her fast."

Louis’ not keen on the idea of having to drag her unconscious body away with other cultists still guarding the area, so he grimaces. "What about a decoy? I could shoot a rock through the cabin window."

"That’s too close," Harry says, and stares ahead for a moment before pointing towards a well about a hundred meters from where they’re sitting. "Think you could hit that?"

The well is at their twelve. It’s made of bricks, a rope tied to it’s wooden roof with a bell hanging dead centre under it. "You want me to hit the bell?"

"It will get her attention," Harry says, gesturing towards the cultist. 

It’s an impossible target for someone as inexperienced as Louis, so he pulls the slingshot out, handing it to Harry. "You do it. You’re a better shot than I am."

Harry doesn’t argue, and picks out a rock. Harry’s boring his gaze into his target like he could set it aflame with just his eyes. He pulls the rubber back, his breath evening and shoulders lowering. Louis looks away from Harry in favor of watching the bell, and a moment later he hears a whoosh before the bell dings.

The woman in front of the shed visibly startles, and within a millisecond her tired gaze is replaced with alarm, starting towards the sound with rushed movements.

"Quick," Harry ushers from Louis’ side, making his way towards the shed.

Louis keeps an eye on the cultist’s back all the way to the shed, and it isn’t until he’s inside the tiny building that he realizes he’s been holding his breath for a while.

Louis barely has time to take in his surroundings before Harry pushes a bag into his hand, a silent request to start looting. Louis doesn’t have to be told twice, and stuffs whatever weapons he can find into the bag as quietly as he can. He can hear the cultist’s voices arguing a short distance away, their words muffled by the walls. It’s only a matter of time before they scatter again, and the woman will be back outside the shed.

Scanning the room, Louis finds a dusty crossbow on the top shelf, and he has to get on his tiptoes to get it down. He examines it for a moment, before storing it away in the bag. Its arrows are sprawled across a workbench just underneath the shelf, and he collects them quickly.

As he turns to look for another bag once the one he has now is full, he registers Harry has stopped packing. Not only that, but he’s frozen in place, mouth agape like he’s about to say something, staring ahead.

Louis follows his line of sight and finds himself freezing up as well. A boy, maybe eighteen, is standing in the doorway. Oddly enough his expression mirrors Harry’s, his handgun hanging limply from his hand at his side. His armor vest looks heavy, and the grenades dangling from his belt looks fake though Louis knows they’re not. 

He’s just a teenager, a scared kid who doesn’t fit his clothes. Not because his clothes are big on him, but because they aren’t him. He’s no soldier, no killer, and Louis knows that when he meets his eyes. His skin is pale, eyes darting between the two like they’re ghosts.

It’s a long shot, but Louis hopes he’s right about this kid as he takes a careful step forward, eyes never leaving the young cultist. 

Louis’ got his hands out, not to ward the kid off, but to show he’s not going to hurt him. Just as Louis is about to say as much, the boy rushes out in a whisper, "Help me."

Louis freezes again, and is struck by the terrified waver in the boy’s voice. He’s reminded that this kid, like most of the people under the Creator’s reign, aren’t here by choice. Louis finds that too easy to forget when they shoot at him.

"We are," Louis promises. "We will."

The boy watches him carefully for a second, his lip trembling. Then he nods, and looks to his left, presumably towards the other cultists, before stepping aside.

"Thank you," Harry says from Louis’ side, and squeezes the boy’s shoulder as he passes with a fully loaded bag across his shoulder. 

Louis lingers. "Come with us."

The boy shakes his head, looking more terrified than ever. "They’ll kill me."

When Louis is about to argue, the boy insists, "no. I can’t leave without my sister. Find a way that won’t get anyone hurt."

Louis nods, hoping the boy can see a promise in his eyes, before following after Harry. 

Zayn already waiting for them when Louis and Harry arrive at their meeting point, and Zayn taps his finger to an imaginary wristwatch.

"You’re late," Zayn comments. "I was about to leave."

Harry snorts. "Don’t pretend like you weren’t worried."

Zayn drops the act in favor of asking, "Did anything happen?"

Harry tells Zayn about the young cultist they encountered, and Zayn’s reaction is much like the one Louis had. He understands why he didn’t want to come with them, but it still visibly tears at him. 

The whole incident at the outpost has made Louis wonder about something that could actually help them defeat the core Family and the Creator, though, and as he follows Zayn and Harry back towards the bunker, he asks, "Why don’t we get them to fight with us?"

"Who?" Zayn asks, slowing his pace until Louis’ caught up with him. 

"The recruits," Louis explains. "Like that boy from the outpost. Like Niall and Liam, and your mum," Louis looks to Harry. "Those who aren’t in the cult by choice."

Harry looks a million miles away as he takes in Louis’ words, his brows furrowed in thought. "How? That boy from the outpost letting us go was pure luck. None of the recruits would dare defy the Creator behind his back. They’re too scared they’ll get caught."

"I think you’re underestimating them," Zayn shoots in. "Before I left the Family I talked to several other people who wanted nothing more than to get out of there. They just need a little push."

Louis thinks for a moment, and an idea pops into his head. "They need a push from someone on the inside."

Harry still doesn’t seem to be on board with them, though, and he says, "who could that be? We can’t reach them. And the walkie doesn’t count, because I’m positive the recruits aren’t allowed to use it unsupervised."

Louis stops walking, then, and the two other men only walk a few more steps before they realize Louis has fallen behind. Louis is wringing his hands in thought, a dangerous plan taking form in his head.

"What?" Zayn asks when Louis still hasn’t said anything.

Louis exhales, and stops wringing his hands when he realizes it can be perceived as nervousness, before saying, "they’re still trying to recruit me, aren’t they? I could be that person on the inside."

Harry’s response is heated. "Absolutely not."

Louis levels Harry with a defiant gaze, and is about to argue when Zayn asks, "why you? Any of us could do it."

"Because," Louis starts, and drags his stare away from Harry in favor of answering Zayn. "The Creator sees you two as criminals. He doesn’t want to recruit you due to the fact that you’ve killed several of his people. But he wants to recruit me, and I think we should use that to our advantage."

It’s a solid of a plan as any, Louis thinks. It will give them an easy way into the hamlet, and Louis could get as much footage as he wants as long as he is careful enough. All Louis would have to do is persuade the Creator into thinking he needs saving. The cult leader may be dangerous, but he is still human. A human being who thrives on power, and feeding his ego might be all it takes for Louis to get inside the hamlet.

Louis’ so close to getting Niall and Liam to safety that it makes his bones ache in anticipation, but there’s another obstacle to get past first.

Harry is glaring at Louis with a mix of anger and hurt on his face. It’s not misplaced, Louis knows that, as he wouldn’t let Harry go into the hamlet alone either.

"We’re not discussing this right now," Harry says, promptly turning around and starts to walk again. 

Louis shoots Zayn a helpless look, but all he gets in return is a shrug.

"Harry," Louis says, picking up his pace until he’s walking next to the other man. Zayn is following behind them just out of ear shot, discreetly staying out of the discussion. 

Harry’s got his eyes set on the path before him. "We’ll talk about this at the bunker."

Louis opens his mouth, then closes it again before he can make things worse. For the first time, walking in silence with Harry feels uncomfortable, and he hates it.

The sun is rising when they return to the bunker, its rays making the wet grass glimmer around the burnt down campfire from the day before. Harry walks straight over to the trapdoor, and even though it’s heavy, he pulls it open like it’s nothing and doesn’t look back to see if Louis is going to follow him down.

Louis hangs back for just a second to steel himself. Harry is stubborn, but so is Louis, and he fears the coming discussion isn't going to end well. He exhales once before climbing down the ladder.

The second Louis’ boots hit concrete, Harry’s up in his face. "You’re not leaving me."

Louis stills, the words making all his hairs stand on end. "What?"

Harry shakes his head helplessly. "If you go into that hamlet alone, you won’t come back. I’ll lose you, like I lost my mum."

Understanding hits Louis like a hot ball of flames, and he closes the gap between him and Harry in a heartbeat, cupping Harry’s face in his hands. "Hey," he murmurs, but it’s apparent the other man is struggling to calm down, so Louis lets go of Harry’s face in favor of throwing his arms around his neck, holding him close.

"Hey," he says again, voice softer this time. "You won’t lose me."

"You don’t know what they’re like," Harry rushes out, breath hot against Louis’ neck. "They change you. My mum couldn’t make any decisions on her own when I left. They wouldn’t let her out of their sights. Going in there is a stupid idea, and you should know that."

"Harry," Louis starts, pulling back to see the other man’s face. "How is it more dangerous than our original plan?"

"Our original plan was to go in quietly together." The last word is said firmly and at length. 

"A million things could go wrong," Louis says carefully. "Going into the hamlet at night is nothing like looting an outpost. There are 150 cultists, and about five are assigned to each of the eight outposts. Just imagine how heavily guarded the hamlet is with the rest of the cultists there. We wouldn’t stand a chance, Harry."

Harry watches Louis for a moment, then turns his head away. Just when Louis thinks Harry isn’t going to say anything, he turns his head back and says, "Zayn would probably agree with your plan. I would too if I wasn’t so biased."

"Look at it this way then," Louis says. "Either all three of us go in with a chance all of us get killed, or I go in alone. You and Zayn will stay on the outside in case anything happens. You can still be there with me."

Harry chews his lip, and Louis is starting to worry he might bleed if he doesn’t stop. He does stop, however, before answering. "Okay. But," Harry cuts off when Louis starts celebrating. "We finish looting the outposts first. You need more training. And you need to learn how to properly use a gun. Those are my terms."

"Of course," Louis says easily, though the part about having to use a gun almost makes his stomach churn. That day of the explosion by the camp was the first and last time Louis’ fired a gun. He’d rather not have a repeat. But if that’s what it takes for Harry to both agree to and be comfortable with the new plan, Louis will do it. "Anything else?"

"Don’t die." The words are as blunt as they are pleading, the hurt still evident in Harry’s voice. 

"Okay." Louis watches Harry for a moment, searches his face for any kind of regret or betrayal. "Don’t hate me. That’s my term."

"I could never hate you," Harry says softly, his eyebrows drawn together. "Never."

There isn’t much of a gap between them, yet Harry manages to get them even closer. He has to bend his back to make their lips meet. It’s tentative at first, as they taste each other with slow movements and heavy hearts. Harry must’ve broken skin biting his own lip, because Louis can taste something metallic. He doesn’t mind it, nor does he mind that Harry’s pushing them backwards until Louis’ back hits concrete wall.

Slow is replaced by heated in a matter of seconds, and Louis welcomes the rushing in his veins by digging his fingers into Harry’s hair, pushing their lips even closer, harder, desperately wanting more.

Harry’s hands move over Louis’ body, and the longer they kiss the further down they go. It’s maddening how slowly they move, though, and after a while Louis grabs one of Harry’s hands and steers it towards his cock. It’s hard and aching, and the second Harry’s hands palms it over Louis’ trousers, Louis groans in pleasure, sagging against the kiss until their lips miss contact.

It’s hard to hear anything over his harsh breaths, but after a moment Louis realizes Harry is whispering his name. 

"What do you want, Louis?" Harry breathes out.

Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, the sensation of Harry’s hands on him making him dizzy. "I want everything. Everything with you."

Before Harry can say anything else, Louis turns his head and trails slow kisses down Harry’s neck. When he gets to Harry’s collarbone, the fabric gets in the way, and Louis pulls at it until Harry understands what Louis wants and proceeds to takes his shirt off.

Louis stops his kisses in favor of taking Harry’s body in for just a few seconds, debating about which part he wants to taste first. The bruise under Harry’s butterfly tattoo has faded completely, yet Louis remembers exactly where it used to be. He finds the spot with his lips, placing his hands on Harry’s hips for balance, and starts making his way down.

Yet again, fabric gets in the way, and Louis takes it upon himself to unzip Harry’s trousers. He’s got the latter’s hands in his hair, the careful tugs making Louis moan before he can stop himself.

Harry’s cock springs loose, and any trace of control that was left in Louis’ bones vanishes at the sight of it. He barely has time to admire it before his body moves for him, and he swallows the other man whole.

Harry’s fingers tighten in Louis’ hair, not enough to be painful, but enough to let Louis know he’s on the right track. He realizes that sucking Harry off is as good for him as it is for Harry, and that only makes him go deeper.

Curious to know, Louis looks up through his eyelashes to see how Harry’s face looks now. He’s got his eyes closed, but a few seconds later they open, and their eyes meet.

"Fuck," Harry breathes. "Lou, I’m gonna– I’m gonna –"

Hearing Harry fumble for words inspires Louis to work harder, swallow deeper, and he's rewarded only a few moments later when Harry’s body shudders in pleasure, his body bending in on itself as he orgasms.

The fingers in Louis’ hair goes slack, and Louis swallows before getting to his feet again, hand reaching out to Harry’s cheek.

Harry is the one who goes in for the kiss, not the least concerned about tasting himself. They kiss slowly, tenderly, until Harry breaks it off and whispers, "now you."

It starts with soft kisses on the neck, like Louis had done. Once Harry reaches Louis’ collarbones, he takes it upon himself to undress Louis. His hands are steady, making it seem easy when Louis himself was struggling just to keep himself upright. 

Harry’s hands travel across Louis’ tattooed body, and he breathes out a comment here and there that sounds like praise, but Louis’ too entranced to register the word’s meanings. He does register the hand on his ass, however.

While Harry licks and sucks on Louis’ torso, his hand ushers closer and closer to Louis’ hole, and it’s as hot as it is maddening.

Finally Louis’ trousers drop, and he didn’t even hear the zipper until his dick sprung out. His mouth is agape when, suddenly, Harry’s fingers are there, coaxing Louis to suck on them. Louis doesn’t hesitate, swallowing around Harry’s fingers hungrily. 

Harry’s fingers are slick with saliva when he pulls them out of Louis’ mouth. Harry’s name dies on Louis’ tongue the second Harry swallows him whole, but a startling moan appears when the spit-slicked finger presses into his hole a mere second later.

Louis’ eyes roll back, and he has to hold one hand on Harry’s shoulder and the other against the wall behind him to keep himself from falling. He’s so on edge, and he tries to keep from coming for so long that when he actually does come, it shoots through his body like lightning, and he loses his balance.

Harry’s already there, though, ready to catch him. He holds Louis close, their breaths evening out together.

"Shit," Louis breathes after an age. 

Harry chuckles lowly, and pulls back with a smile on his face. "Yeah." Harry’s voice is hoarse and airy, and Louis loves the sound of it. 

"I’m knackered now," Louis confesses, but he smiles through his drowsiness.

"Same," Harry says. "I’ll go tell Zayn we’re taking a nap. We’ll go over the plan with him later."

"Okay," Louis says, thankful he doesn’t have to climb a ladder any time soon. 

Before Harry goes, he gives Louis one final kiss. It’s as slow and tender as the one they started with, and Louis chases it until Harry pulls away.

When Harry’s closed the trapdoor shut behind himself, Louis makes his way over to the mattress on unsteady legs. He pulls his clothes on, body already freezing without Harry’s presence, and lies down.

He’s already half asleep when Harry comes back, but he wakes just long enough to make room for the other man beside himself. They fall asleep with all their limbs tangled up together, and for the first time in a while, Louis doesn’t feel alone.


	7. Blood Sweat & Murder

The following days Louis spends his time training with Zayn during the day, and his nights with Harry. When the sky is at its darkest, the three of them make their way through the misty forest to loot another outpost. The cultists might have caught on about what has been happening to their supplies, because every night Zayn has had to pick through locks to get into the sheds. In addition to that, there has been more people guarding the outposts, and it has been tricky getting past them, but they’ve managed without a hitch.

Another thing that’s been going surprisingly well is how long they’ve stayed at the bunker without the cultists tracking them down. Louis had mentioned it in passing at breakfast by the campfire after they looted their last outpost, and it set something off in Harry. Around noon, Harry and Louis went hunting, but Louis could tell Harry’s head was somewhere else when he practically stepped over a hare without noticing. They ended up picking berries instead.

They’re currently lounging by the burnt down campfire along with Zayn, mechanically munching on berries under an overcast sky. The tension is making Louis’ skin crawl, and he realizes; this is the quiet before the storm.

At that exact moment, the walkie hisses from Zayn’s jacket. Louis hears it like a gunshot and drops all his berries into the dirt. He curses, debating for a moment if he’s going to pick them up again before deciding against it.

_"Good afternoon,_ " comes the cheery voice of the Creator. Louis can’t see it, but he knows the Creator is smiling. _"Hope I didn’t disturb you, brother. You must be busy, given you haven’t answered any of my calls._ "

Louis rolls his eyes as a response before sending Harry a look. Harry seems bored of the call already, head in hand as he flicks an uninterested look to the walkie. It’s become routine for the cult leader to make calls to Louis. Some days it’s only one call, but other days – like today – he’s called two times. Once in the middle of the night, and once in the middle of the day. 

None of them ever respond to him, but that is about to change. After Harry and Louis’ run-in with that young cultist that wanted their help, they started planning in detail about how Louis was going to get into the hamlet, and most importantly, how Louis was supposed to make the cult leader trust him enough to let Louis wander around the area unsupervised. That way, he can go behind the core Family’s back and convince the recruits to fight back. He’ll also be able to get some good footage to upload to social media, and hopefully get some help from the outside. 

They all agreed that playing on the cult leader’s ego was key, as well as manipulating him into thinking Louis needs saving. Louis has to let himself be belittled and pitied, and just the thought makes Louis’ skin crawl. He can’t stand being belittled, and he hates being pitied. Hopefully, though, it will end in defeating the cult. It’s a comforting thought.

The walkie crackles again. _"I wanted to give you an update. Niall has finally decided to help our cause by feeding us. He’s training to be a cook, so that’s good. Good for him. Liam hasn’t found himself just yet, but I hope he’ll join the hunters. He’s got the physique, absolutely. I’m thinking the same for you, actually."_

Zayn sighs. "D’you want me to turn it off?"

"Yes, please," Louis grunts out. A berry stained his shirt, and he licks his thumb before rubbing the spot. "Though it’s nice to hear the Creator likes my physique."

"I think he meant Liam’s physique," Zayn says.

"Yes," Louis agrees. "Mine and Liam’s physiques."

Harry’s voice drawls from Louis’ right. "Yeah. Louis’ got a great physique."

Zayn makes gagging noises before getting to his feet. "I’m gonna go check on the fishing net. These berries aren’t proper lunch."

"Are you trying to get away from us?" Harry asks, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"I am," Zayn replies, promptly turning and walking away. 

Louis waits until Zayn is out of earshot before turning to Harry. "What’s on your mind?"

Harry chews his bottom lip for a second, mirroring Louis’ gaze. "We don’t have any more outposts to loot. You’re doing good in training. All that’s left to do is infiltrate the hamlet. I’m just scared it won’t go as smoothly as everything else."

Louis gets it, even though they already have run over everything that can go wrong – everything from Louis not getting in, to Louis getting killed. They have a backup plan if the cultists find Louis’ phone, they have a backup plan if one of the recruits turn on them, and they have a backup plan if Louis so much as twists an ankle. Harry made sure of it.

Still, Harry worries. If it was Harry that was going into the hamlet unarmed, Louis would too.

Louis inches closer to the other man before resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. A hand drapes over Louis’ shoulders, warming him up. "It’ll be fine," Louis murmurs. "You and Zayn will be out of sight watching me the whole time. Niall and Liam will be with me on the inside. I trust them, and I trust you. It’ll be fine."

Harry kisses the crown of Louis’ head. "I still worry." A beat. "All these months wandering around these forests have made me lonely. Even with Zayn there. That all changed when you came along, and I don’t want to lose that. I haven’t even known you for that long, and I’ve grown attached to you. Is that weird?"

"No," Louis says, because he feels the same way. Louis hasn’t told Harry this; but he dreads being without him. When Louis goes into the hamlet, he is most likely going to spend a few nights, and Louis has grown accustomed to spending his nights wrapped in Harry’s arms. 

Harry’s next words are muffled, lips pressed into Louis’ hair. "Is it weird if I’m already falling for you?"

The confession sends a shudder down Louis’ spine, but for all the right reasons. Before coming here, only the thought of someone new falling in love with him was enough to make his stomach bottom out. In the end, Harry chased those fears away.

Instead of responding, Louis turns his head and catches Harry’s lips with his own in a slow kiss. A raindrop falls onto Louis’ cheek, and another one slides down between their lips. A minute later the drizzle picks up, threatening to drench the couple, but Louis doesn’t mind. Neither man is ready to break the kiss, so they go on and on despite cold streams running down their necks. 

Harry’s hair is wet when Louis drags a hand through it, and he can feel his own fringe flattening against his forehead. Hands rake over Louis’ body, dragging at his jacket until it’s finally pulled off. Harry’s lips disappear from Louis’ in favor of licking droplets off of Louis’ neck. The air is hot despite the cold rain, so it isn’t the weather that gives Louis goosebumps.

"You’re going to get a cold, you idiots." Zayn’s voice startles them from their bubble, and Louis pulls away from Harry to watch Zayn approach. The latter’s hands are empty, which must mean there weren’t any fish in the net. 

Harry sounds annoyed when he responds. "You’re outside as well."

"I’m not half naked," is Zayn’s reply, even though the only clothing missing from Louis is his jacket. "Get in the bunker and dry off."

"Always the mood killer," Harry mutters, but a moment later he smiles, kissing Louis’ lips one more time. "Come on."

Pulling the trapdoor open, Zayn mutters, "always a pleasure."

Once everyone is inside, Zayn pulls out his map and unfolds it onto the concrete floor. "We looted the final outpost last night, which means we can finally send Louis into the hamlet."

Harry visibly flinches. "Already?"

Zayn’s on his knees, eyes set on the map in front of him. He looks up for only a second before he responds. "There’s no point waiting. The longer we wait, the bigger are the chances the cultists find us first. As long as we don’t deviate from the plan, I have good faith it won’t be long before we can reclaim the hamlet."

Louis steps closer to Harry, lightly scratching the latter’s back in comfort. "We’ll go over the plan once more, then."

Zayn nods, and Harry turns his gaze to Louis, brows furrowed in worry. 

"You okay with that?" Louis asks, low enough for only Harry to hear. 

Harry searches Louis’ face for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. Zayn’s right. We can’t wait forever."

"Okay," Louis says, before he and Harry join Zayn on the floor.

Zayn pulls the walkie out from his jacket, putting it down next to the map. "First, Louis will radio the cult leader." Zayn looks at Louis. "The Creator needs to be aware you’re coming, to make sure no one fires at you as you approach the hamlet."

Louis nods in understanding.

"Harry and I will follow you to the outskirts of the hamlet, but we split up here." Zayn points to the map. "Harry will climb the hill on the east side outside the perimeter – there’s a hunting tower at the top, and it will give Harry a clear view of the area. I will be a bit closer to the west, with a view over the other side of the hamlet, as well as Harry’s tower.

Now, Louis may be in there for a while, so we have to bring enough food and water."

"It will get cold during the night as well," Harry adds.

"Yeah, so don’t get naked," Zayn jokes, before continuing. "Louis, once you get there they’ll most likely search you. That means you can’t bring your phone in, you’ll have to get it from us once you get the chance. The cultists are also most likely going to question you about me and Harry’s whereabouts."

"That’s when I tell them about the bunker," Louis says. 

Zayn nods. "Tell them about all the weapons we stole. Make them trust you. We’ll take out the ammunition on the weapons beforehand, and I will take it with me, along with any weapons that don’t require ammo, such as knives. The weapons will be useless to them, but hopefully the cultists won’t realize that until it’s too late."

Zayn waits a beat before continuing, and Harry and Louis both nod to show they’re still listening. "Now for the tricky part. Louis, you’re going to have to convince several recruits to fight back, and it won’t be easy. Some of them are scared, some are brainwashed, and others have simply accepted their new lifestyle. You should start with Niall and Liam, as they’re already your friends.

Once you get your friends in on the plan, the three of you spread out to convince other recruits to join in, as well. Hopefully, it will snowball after that and before you know it you’ve got an army on your side."

"What about footage?" Louis asks. "Shouldn’t I get that first?"

Zayn shakes his head. "It’s better to have more people on your side before you start documenting them. That is in case someone sees you and reports to a core member of the Family. Once we have enough people ready to fight with us, that’s when you retrieve your phone from me and Harry. I’d say it’s safer to get it from me, given I’ll be closer."

"All right," Louis says. "And after that?"

"After that you get some footage. Now remember, no one has started fighting each other yet, and that’s important."

Louis bites his lip, thinking. "I’ll get some statements from the recruits on video, then."

"To be fair," Harry shoots in. "I’ve seen the hamlet from a distance, and from the outside it looks like a war zone. They’ve put up fences and guard towers. Who knows what you’ll see on the inside. Any footage you get there is good footage."

Louis almost gulps. He hasn’t given much thought as to what the inside of the hamlet will be like, but if Harry’s words are any indication, it won’t be good.

"I agree," Zayn says. "When you feel like you have enough footage, you’ll need wifi to upload it. They’ve got a password on their wifi, and we have no way of knowing if they’re using the password written on the router. So instead of looking for the router, look for a computer that’s already wired in. Transfer your files over to the computer, and upload the footage. Make sure to write a description about what is happening, and where we are. Hopefully it spreads.

"Meanwhile," Zayn continues, eyes fixed on the map, "Harry and I will infiltrate the camp on either side. Louis, you’ll join us after you’ve finished uploading. Our goal is no longer to kill core members, but to contain them until authorities arrive. Harry will tranquillize any core member he finds until he’s out of arrows, and I will have the recruits help me take down the rest.

"The core family are a group of about thirty people, including the Creator. There’s a basement under the restaurant, and we’ll lock them in there once we have things under control. Getting the core members contained won’t be easy. It will be dangerous, and people will get hurt. So make sure to watch your six." A beat. "Any questions?"

No one says anything. Louis’ chewing the inside of his cheek while going over the plan in his head, and is confident about his tasks. He takes note of Harry’s knee bouncing next to him, and lays a hand on it, stilling it, like Harry had done for Louis all those days ago. 

"Good," Zayn says when there aren’t any questions. "I say we rest up first. It’s going to be a long couple of days. I can take the first watch if you want."

"Thank you," Louis says, and a moment later Zayn refolds the map, getting to his feet. While Zayn disappears outside, Harry and Louis lie down facing each other on the mattress.

None of them can know for sure that the plan will work, no matter how thought out it is, or how careful they’ll be. Louis knows that, and he guesses Harry knows it too. Worst case scenario is that Louis walks into the hamlet only to be killed, and the thought is so jarring it makes all his hairs stand on end.

Though it’s a frightening thought, Louis will not allow it to spiral any further, so instead he watches Harry. He commits the colour of Harry’s eyes to memory, the curve of his brows, the nearly invisible freckles across his nose. 

Louis reaches his finger out, tracing it down Harry’s skin just to remember the feeling of it. Harry doesn’t say a word, just watches Louis closely as the latter’s finger stops by the corner of Harry’s mouth before leaning in, softly connecting their lips like falling feathers. Louis breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t pull away completely as he rests his nose against the other man’s cheek.

Harry’s voice is gravelly when he speaks. "Are you scared?"

Louis closes his eyes. "A bit, yeah," he admits. 

A hand drapes across Louis’ waist, pulling him closer. Harry moves his head until their foreheads are touching, and Louis can feel the flutter of Harry’s eyelashes. "I am too."

Nothing is said after that, but that’s okay, Louis thinks. There’s really nothing more to say. So instead, Louis listens to Harry’s breathing evening out, counting each breath until eventually, Louis falls asleep as well.

-

It’s just before midnight when Louis, Harry and Zayn are sitting in a circle in the bunker, staring at the walkie in the middle of them. Louis’ got a grenade in his chest, ticking away without any indication as to when fear will get the better of him.

"Are you ready?" Zayn asks, looking at Louis.

Louis bites his lip, noting that Harry’s doing the same. "Yeah."

It’s an age before Louis actually makes himself pick up the walkie, and he’s hesitant before pressing the button. When he finally does, he says, "are you there?"

About ten seconds later, the device buzzes. " _I am. I’m surprised you reached out. I was starting to think you were avoiding me._ "

Louis waits to see if the Creator will say anything else. When he doesn’t, Louis clears his throat and continues. "I’m scared."

A beat. " _Of what?_ "

Louis looks to Harry, swallowing. "Of Harry. And Zayn."

Harry nods in support, and a moment later he reaches a hand out. Louis grabs ahold of it like it’s a lifeline.

" _I see_ ," the Creator replies, and there’s a pause before he continues. " _Can you tell me why?_ "

Louis is overly aware of the concrete walls around him, the exposed skin on the back of his neck. Harry’s hand is the only thing keeping him anchored, and Louis squeezes it to make sure it’s still there. "You were right. They’re not good. They’re murderers. And I’m scared they’ll kill me, too."

Louis holds his breath waiting for a reply, and is grateful for the waiver in his voice. It may be enough to fool the Creator into thinking Louis’ actually scared of Harry and Zayn, when in reality, it’s the cult leader that scares him. 

" _I’m a very trusting person,_ " the Creator says. " _I hope you’re not lying to me._ "

"I’m not," Louis says quickly, then adds, "I can tell you where they are. Just let me in to the hamlet. Let me see my friends again."

" _Of course_ ," the Creator says easily, tone alluring and soft. It’s almost enough to make Louis forget about how relentless the cult leader can actually be, but he is reminded of it only a moment later. " _But I warn you; if you break my trust, I’ll kill you myself._ " 

The words send a cold flash down Louis’ spine, and it’s an age before he realizes the Creator is done talking to him. Staring at the walkie limp in his hand, Louis finally realizes that he pulled this off. He’s gained access to the hamlet.

"Well," comes Zayn’s voice, and Louis flinches when he claps his hands together. "That was that. Let’s pack up and get moving."

Louis’ not ready to move, hand still gripping Harry’s tightly. He closes his eyes for a moment to regain his bearings, and Harry is patiently sitting beside him while Louis’ willing his heart to calm down.

Once Louis opens his eyes again and nods, they get to their feet and start packing. Louis’ not bringing anything with him, so he helps Harry and Zayn with their backpacks, filling them with water and food. 

When they step out into the night, closing the trapdoor behind them for the last time, Louis’ got his fears well under control. He’s weirdly detached from them, and he’s not going to complain. It may be because there is no turning back now.

Zayn walks ahead. He’s got his backpack on, and is carrying a second bag filled with the ammunition they removed from the weapons down in the bunker earlier. 

"I can carry that," Louis says, jogging to catch up and taking the ammo bag from Zayn’s shoulder. 

Zayn’s smile is quick. "Thanks."

Once Louis’ secured the strap over his shoulder, a hand finds his and squeezes. Harry’s smile is soft when Louis looks over, and he returns it without a beat.

Given the hamlet is a five minute walk away from the bunker, it doesn’t take many steps before Zayn comes to a halt and turns to Harry and Louis. "This is where we split up."

Louis swallows around the stone in his throat before handing the ammo bag back to Zayn. Searching his pockets, Louis fishes out his phone and hands that over, as well.

It’s cold out, the temperature lower than what Louis’ grown accustomed to during his stay here. He zips up his jacket before stuffing his hands into the front pockets. They’re shaking, and he can’t tell if it’s due to the cold or his nerves.

"Hey." Harry steps closer to Louis, his breath hot on the latter’s face. "You’ve got this."

Lips meet Louis’, the kiss urgent, and broken off much too soon. 

Harry continues. "I’ll see you in a few days, yeah?"

It takes two tries for Louis to find his voice. "Yeah."

"Good luck," Harry says, and kisses Louis once more. It’s slower this time, and though it’s not meant as a final goodbye, the knot in Louis’ chest tells him otherwise. Pulling back and looking back at the man that made him braver in more than one way, Louis is as sad as he is grateful.

"Louis." Zayn’s voice is gravelly as he moves into view. "Good luck, mate," he says, and Louis barely has time to pull away from Harry before Zayn hugs him, clapping his back.

"Thanks," Louis replies, pulling back. 

Zayn mocks a salute in lieu of goodbye before scurrying off into the shadows. Harry moves back into Louis’ view, eyes boring into his. Harry reaches a hand out, brushing the fringe away from Louis’ eyes. His other hand finds Louis’.

"Come back to me, will you?" Harry says, a crooked smile playing on his lips.

Louis smiles back. "As long as you promise the same."

"It’s a promise, then," Harry says, before leaning in again, pressing his lips to Louis’ forehead. "See you soon."

And just like that, Louis loses grip of Harry’s hand as the latter backtracks away, before spinning around and leaving Louis alone in the forest.

Pulling his hood up, Louis turns and focuses his attention on the path before him. With sturdy steps he makes his way out of the dark forest. The trees block the view of the moon, but once he reaches the outskirts of the hamlet it’s back.

The hamlet does look like a war zone from the outside, like Harry had mentioned earlier. Wooden fences built out of building scraps and broken furniture stand tall and merciless around the little hamlet. From where Louis is standing, all he can see from inside the hamlet are roofs from the few cabins and houses, along with a makeshift sniper tower in the middle made out of metal scraps. 

The gate is huge, and hard to miss, so Louis stands up taller as he approaches the entrance. He debates for a second about knocking, but before he can make up his mind the sound of guns clicking stops him in his tracks.

"Hold it!" someone yells, and Louis raises his hands tentatively before looking up. There’s a cultist on either side of the gate above him, and Louis assumes they’re standing on top of guard towers he can’t see from the outside.

Louis waits as the cultists discuss among themselves, before another voice – muffled through the gate  –  says, "open the gate."

Staring at the gate, Louis waits for it to open. He doesn’t lower his hands, too afraid the movement will get him shot, so instead he stands his ground and breathes slowly in and out.

It’s takes a minute, but finally the gate opens to reveal a dozen cultists, all pointing their guns at Louis. He expected it, but can’t help but lash out as one of them steps forward and grabs Louis by the arm.

"Get off me," Louis snarls, but he is ignored as he’s led inside. Struggling is pointless, so he gives up in favor of taking in his surroundings.

The first thing he takes note of are how many people there are, dressed in black from head to toe, lounging around dozens upon dozens of tents set up at random between the six buildings that make up the hamlet. What strikes Louis as odd is how they’re looking at him. Their gazes are careful, guarded, and they only send him a quick glance before getting back to their tasks, almost like they’re afraid they will be caught staring.

What used to be a road leading through the hamlet has been turned into a public space, and a couple of cultists sit around one of the many tables set up. Mismatched lanterns hang from ropes tied between streetlights, and if Louis wasn’t so biased he would say it made the tiny street look homely.

Louis’ being walked towards the biggest building in the hamlet, the entrance heavily guarded by armed cultists. He’s yanked to a halt just before he reaches the porch steps, and one of the cultists guarding the building walks up to him and starts patting him down for weapons. Louis is patient as he does so, and focuses his attention on the building in front of him as he waits.

A sign above the front door has been painted over with black, but Louis can still see parts of what the sign used to say, and it hits him that this is Harry’s mum’s restaurant. It’s two stories high, and Louis remembers Harry telling him he used to live on the top floor. 

The cultist searching Louis grunts out something intelligible before stepping aside. Louis is pushed towards the steps, and he restrains himself from shooting an elbow back in favor of entering the restaurant.

Inside, the floors are bare of any furnishings apart from a bar desk in the far end of the room. Behind it, a shelf with the odd bottle of liquor is on display, some of them toppled over. 

Louis’ led towards a staircase next to the bar, and as he climbs the dusty steps he can hear someone humming on the floor above him, and the sound is as familiar as it is disturbing. The memory of the sweet smell of tea sends a shudder down his spine.

Harry’s flat must be the only space left in the hamlet that hasn’t been rearranged by the cult, Louis realizes, because the first thing he’s met with when he reaches the hallway are family photos hanging on the wall. A little boy – missing both front teeth  – is smiling at the camera next to a young girl Louis assumes is Harry’s sister. 

Louis must’ve slowed down, because a hand grabs his shoulder to steer him away from the pictures on the wall. Shaking the hand off, Louis does as he’s told and follows the humming of the Creator, until he’s finally walked into what must be the living room.

It’s a spacious room, almost the size of the eating area down in the restaurant. The cult leader is sitting on top of the dining table, dangling his legs from the edge. He’s still humming a tune, but stops when Louis’ dragged to a halt in the middle of the room in favor of flashing his teeth, the smile wicked and twisted.

The cultists that led Louis upstairs scatter around the room, guns resting in their hands as they pull back to watch. The Creator gets to his feet and approaches Louis on lazy steps, and puts a hand on Louis’ shoulder. Louis can smell his cologne.

The blow to Louis’ face is unexpected, and the explosion of pain against his jaw topples him over. He doesn’t fall to the ground, however, as the Creator is quick to catch him.

"There, there," the Creator says, grabbing Louis by the face the minute he’s upright again. "Now we’re even."

Louis works his jaw once the cult leader lets go of him. "Fair enough," Louis says, meeting the Creator’s eyes. Losing his cool so early on won’t help, so Louis pushes his hands into his pockets before his anger gets the better of him.

The Creator flashes another smile, before striding back to the dining table to retake his position on top of it. Louis hasn’t been told to move from his spot, so he remains where he is.

"You’ve changed your mind," the Creator says.

"I have." Louis doesn’t look away from the other man. "I hope you’ll still have me."

"You’ve made some mistakes," the Creator says, tilting his head. "But so have I. Imagine if we didn’t. Would we still be where we are now?"

It’s a rhetorical question, but Louis answers it anyway. "I don’t think so. But I’m still sorry for not coming to you sooner."

"Don’t be ashamed for your mistakes, brother. Mistakes are there to guide you to the right path. Question is," the Creator says, leaning forward. "Is this truly your path?"

Louis fiddles with his fingers in his pockets, and casts his eyes downward. "I didn’t know where else to go."

It feels like an age waiting for the Creator to respond, and when he doesn’t, Louis looks up, continuing. "I didn’t feel safe with Harry and Zayn. I thought I did at first, but I was wrong. I don’t belong with them. I kept worrying about my friends, and what would happen if we ran into them. What if Harry and Zayn killed them? I would blame myself."

"How did you get away from them?" The Creator asks. "Did they just let you go?"

"I was supposed to keep watch," Louis lies. "While they slept. That’s when I ran off."

The Creator nods, seemingly turning the information over in his head. "Can you tell me where Harry and Zayn are now?"

Louis fakes hesitation for a moment, before tentatively saying, "the bunker."

"Bunker?" the Creator echoes. 

Louis nods, and looks away. "There’s a bunker about a five minutes walk from here. That’s where we’ve been staying after the shed burned down. That’s where we’re keeping the weapons we stole from you."

Understanding fills the Creator’s face as he leans back. "Of course," he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. "Thank you for telling me, brother."

"They’re going to kill me," Louis stresses. "If they find out I told you, they’ll kill me."

"I’ll make sure they won’t," the Creator says, before getting to his feet again. When he reaches Louis, the embrace is just as unexpected as the strike was, and Louis has to force himself to relax into the hug. "You’re safe with me."

Louis’ voice is small when he responds, "thank you."

Pulling back, the Creator says, "your fellow brothers will help get you some clothes and a place to sleep. You must be exhausted."

Louis blinks a few times before nodding, and it’s hard to hide the triumphant feeling in his chest as he follows the guards outside.

Passing the dozens of tents, the guards finally stop in front of a tent by the fence tucked between two cabins. One of the guards crouches down and opens the tent, exchanging a few words with someone inside.

A minute later, tufts of dark hair emerges, and Louis lurches down to his knees when he recognizes the man.

"Niall!" Louis doesn’t wait for the other man to untangle himself to his sleeping bag before throwing his arms around Niall’s neck in a bone-crushing hug. "Fuck, I missed you."

"Louis?" Niall says, pulling back to get a look. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I’m sorry," Louis says. "I’m so sorry."

"For what? You’re here now," Niall says, cupping Louis’ cheeks. "You look a mess. What happened to your face?"

Louis assumes the Creator left a mark, but he brushes it aside in favor of asking. "Where’s Liam?"

"Hold on," Niall says, before disappearing into the tent again. There’s some grumbling, but after a minute Louis can hear Liam shriek his name before bursting out of the tent, arms wrapping around Louis’ neck.

"Goddammit, Louis," Liam says. "We’ve been looking everywhere for you."

"You have?" Louis asks, frowning.

Liam pulls back. "Some of the hunters have. We weren’t allowed, because it was too dangerous. We would have called you, but after the hunters went back to the camp, they said all our stuff was caught in some sort of fire, and that you were with some horrible men. I was worried sick about you. Did they hurt you?"

Louis stares. They’ve been fed lies, Louis realizes. The guards are still standing behind Louis, so he chooses his words carefully. "They didn’t hurt me, no."

"What’s this then?" Liam asks, pointing at the bruise on Louis’ jaw.

"It’s nothing," Louis says, and continues when Liam starts arguing. "I’m fine. I’m here now."

Liam looks Louis in the eyes for a moment, like he’s searching for a lie. After a moment, he throws his arms around Louis once more, holding him tightly. Louis doesn’t see it, but he feels it as Niall joins in on the hug, as well.

"Mate, you need a shower," Niall comments, cackling. 

Pulling away, Louis asks, "you have showers?"

Niall gives him a sad smile, before getting to his feet. "Come on," he says, and turns to the guards to say, "thanks. We’ve got it from here."

Louis follows Niall and Liam across the hamlet, and it isn’t until now that he realizes his friends sport the same dark colours as the rest of the cultists. They enter a building almost as large as the restaurant, which has an entry hall that looks like a foyer, and Louis wonders out loud if this used to be a hotel of sorts. 

"It’s a resort," Liam explains. "There’s like eight rooms here, so it’s very small. It’s got a little gym down in the basement, I’ve been going there a lot."

"Oh," is all Louis says, as he follows his friends upstairs to a long hallway. Liam opens one of the doors, and gestures for Louis to go inside.

It’s a small hotel room. The bed has been stripped of it’s mattress, leaving only the frame. 

"Why isn’t anyone sleeping in here instead of outside?" Louis asks.

Niall walks around Louis to go sit in a dusty armchair in the corner. "It’s too closed off. Having everyone sleep in tents outside brings the community closer together."

Louis frowns. "Right."

"The shower is in here," Liam says, opening another door. "I’ll go fetch you a towel and some fresh clothes. After, you should get some rest."

"Alright," Louis says, lingering by the door to the bathroom for only a moment before entering, closing the door behind himself.

Louis doesn’t wait for the water to get warm before stepping into the stream. The cold water is a shock to his system, but slowly it turns warmer, and it feels so good Louis could cry. He lowers his head as the water splashes down on him, allowing the warmth to relax his shoulders and clear his head.

Liam knocks on the door before entering with a towel and some clothes – the black fabric sending a shudder down Louis’ spine – before promptly leaving again. 

It’s cold getting out of the shower, so Louis dries himself off as quickly as he can so he can get into his new clothes. Though the thought of wearing the cult’s colours feels appalling, Louis grits his teeth and steps into the black army trousers before pulling on the t-shirt. The fabric is soft and clean, and it’s almost enough to make Louis forget he’s actually wearing a uniform.

Louis steps out of the bathroom, and he really needs to tell Liam and Niall the truth about this place, but he’s paranoid someone might be listening in, so he holds his tongue until the three of them make it outside to the tent.

Liam rolls out a sleeping bag for Louis, while Niall zips the tent shut behind himself.

"We can go home tomorrow," Niall says, flashing a smile.

The words starts a pang in Louis’ chest. He can see Liam speaking animatedly to Niall, probably celebrating, but the words go in Louis’ ear and out the other. "They won’t let us," Louis says over the talking, cutting off Liam mid-sentence.

Liam stares for a moment before saying, "what are you on about?"

"How much do you know about this place?" Louis asks instead of answering. "What have they told you?"

Liam stares at Louis like he’s grown two heads, and Niall looks just as puzzled. In the end, it’s Niall who answers. "We’ve been told this is a community for people who just want to have fun living. They’re great people, I’ve made some good friends here."

"What have you been told?" Liam retorts.

Louis averts his eyes, allowing his heart to sink for only a moment before looking back up. "This is a cult," he says carefully, yet sternly. "They’ve chased me since day one. Shot at me, they shot Harry in the leg."

Niall interrupts. "Who’s Harry?"

"What are you talking about?" Liam adds. "These are good people. I admit they might have similarities to a cult, but they’re not the bad kind."

"They’ve brainwashed you," Louis says, and he can’t keep the heat out of his voice. "The reason why you think they’re good people is because you’ve only seen what they want you to see. They’ve lied to you. This is a cult, and they kill anyone who tries to leave."

"Shut up," Niall says. "If anyone’s been brainwashed, Louis, it’s you. Are you even hearing yourself?"

Louis closes his eyes, searching for a better way to explain. When he finally opens his eyes again, he says, "that morning after we arrived I woke up only to find out you two weren’t in the tent. I tried calling, but there wasn’t any reception so I went looking. I ran into five armed men, and they started chasing me. Out of nowhere this archer comes out and saves my life, and he told me he would help me find you. Finally, I have."

Niall shifts a bit. "You have. And we’ll go home first thing in the morning."

"No," Louis says a bit too loudly. "If we try to leave, they’ll kill us."

"That doesn’t make sense," Liam says.

"We have to fight back," Louis says. "Me, Harry and Zayn have made a plan as to how we are going to defeat the cultists. But I’m going to need your help."

When Liam and Niall still doesn’t seem to understand, Louis takes a deep breath before he starts to explain everything that’s happened since day one. He tells them about Harry’s scar, the shed burning, Zayn leaving the Family. He explains how manipulative the Creator really is, adding that the mark on Louis’ face was left by him. 

Louis can see the wheels turning in both Niall and Liam’s heads as they listen to Louis talk, but when he’s finished he’s met with silence.

Louis clears his throat, and his voice is quiet when he speaks. "Do you believe me now?"

Liam blinks. Niall is biting his nails, and his voice is muffled when he replies. "Are you sure?"

"I’m sure," Louis says. "I’m sorry."

Liam drags a hand through his hair roughly. "How do we get home then?"

Louis tells them about the plan to take down the cult, and by the time Louis’ finished Niall’s bitten his nail raw.

"Christ," Liam says, staring into space. 

"You said you’ve made some friends here," Louis says, looking at Niall. "Do you think you could convince them to join the fight?"

"Um." Niall pauses for a moment. "I guess so. I could try."

"Some of the recruits have been here for a long time, and it’s likely they know what is truly going on here. This might be the uprising they’ve been waiting for," Louis says. "You and Liam have been shielded well from the truth."

"Actually," Liam starts, blinking. "There has been some strange things going on, but I never gave it too much thought. The other day when I was working out, a couple of guys came down, talking quietly among themselves, but I only heard pieces of the conversation. One of them kept talking about wanting to leave, but the other one seemed horrified by the mere thought."

"It was right in front of our eyes the entire time," Niall says, a disappointed tilt to his mouth. "People armed with machine guns, the matching outfits, the fences and guard towers. The way people look at the Creator, whether it’s with fear or admiration. I can’t believe we didn’t see it."

"You don’t know you’re in a cult until you’re in too deep," Louis muses. 

"Fuck," Niall says, eyes widening like he just thought of something. "I told the Creator so many things. He was telling me about how his wife left him, how he hasn’t seen his daughter in ages. So we got into talking about break ups and– fuck, Louis, I told him about you and Ewan. He kept asking about you and I just… I’m so sorry."

"I know," Louis says. "But it’s okay."

Niall shakes his head. "I shouldn’t have said anything."

"You didn’t know the truth back then," Louis reminds him. "You trusted him, and I’m sure most of the recruits also trusted him in the beginning. He’s very charismatic, easy to talk to. Zayn told me how the Creator makes you feel special, makes you feel like someone is listening. That might make you feel like you owe him something in return. It’s manipulative as hell."

"It’s fucked up, is what it is," Niall says, gaze heated as he proceeds to bite at his nails.

"We’ll help you," Liam says after the silence has stretched on for a moment, and Niall nods in agreement. "We’ll start spreading the message about fighting back in the morning."

"Yeah, better rest up first," Niall says, glancing at Louis with a glint of menace in his eyes. "You look like you need it."

A hint of a smile appears on Louis’ lips. "Fuck off."

It doesn’t take long after they’ve crawled into their sleeping bags that Louis can hear Niall’s snoring. Liam, on the other hand, doesn’t make a sound, and Louis can’t tell whether he’s sleeping or not. As for Louis, he can’t seem to fall asleep. All those nights spent awake looting outposts has broken his internal clock.

So instead, he closes his eyes, envisioning Harry lying next to him. He evens his breathing, and it takes a while, but eventually he falls asleep.


	8. Come Wisdom And Come Fire

It’s the sound of gunshots that throws Louis out of sleep, and lashing out is instinctive. Clawing at his sleeping bag, he quickly untangles his feet at the sound of another round of bullets firing through the air. 

A hand encircles his wrist. "Louis."

Disoriented, he looks up to find Niall sitting cross-legged on top of his sleeping bag. 

"Target practice," Niall explains, giving Louis’ wrist a squeeze before letting go.

Louis flinches at another gunshot, and it takes him a few tries to find his voice. "I’m sorry."

Niall flashes him a quick smile. "Don’t worry about it. I reacted the same way the first morning. You get used to it."

"I hope not." Louis rubs at his eyes, and takes note of the empty sleeping bag next to his. "Where’s Liam?"

Niall grimaces. "Target practice."

Louis blinks, recalling how The Creator had told him he wanted Liam to become a hunter. He got his wish, it seems. "Right." 

"And I have kitchen duty," Niall says at length. "I was supposed to be there a while ago."

"You should go," Louis says.

Niall bites at what’s left of his nail. "I don’t think I can. Not when I know what’s going on around here. I might throw up into the pot."

"We can’t raise any suspicion," Louis says. "If you don’t go, someone will come looking for you, and they’ll wonder why you didn’t show."

Niall stares at the ground.

"You can do it," Louis says, patting the other man’s knee. "I’ll walk with you."

It’s an age before Niall finally looks up, nodding.

There are a lot more people outside today than there was the day before, and Louis has to zig-zag between a sea of black t-shirts before they reach the public space. Tables have started filling up, and Niall shows Louis to the table he and Liam usually sit at, before disappearing into one of the smaller cabins.

The tables are long enough to seat a couple dozen people, and Louis sits down at the very edge to wait until Niall is finished in the kitchen. While he waits, he takes in the hamlet in the daylight. He can see the fence more clearly now, how it circles around the entire area like a cage. The gate is at the south side, with guard towers on either side. On the north side, the fence curls around the restaurant, also with a guard tower to each side. On the right side of the restaurant, a couple of cultists are on their hands and knees digging around in the soil. One of them pulls a carrot out.

The sniper tower is propped against the cabin Niall went into, metal scraps lean against the side of the building like it might topple over without the support. Looking up, Louis spots a cultist scouting from the top, sniper rifle hanging lazily from his shoulder.

"Hey."

Louis jolts at the voice, and pulls his gaze from the sniper to find a familiar boy has sat down across from him.

"Hey," Louis says, recognizing the young cultist from one of the outposts Louis and Harry looted. 

The boy’s got a frown on his face. "They got you."

Louis looks around to see if anyone is listening in, before lowering his voice. "We’re getting you out."

The boy stares, before looking around like Louis had and leans in. "What do you mean?"

"We have a plan," Louis says, and continues to fill the boy in. The boy listens intently, and by the time Louis is finished he looks terrified, yet hopeful at the same time.

"I know of a few people that wants to go home, as well," the boy says. "I’ll let them know."

Louis thanks him, and watches as the boy scurries away from his seat, before disappearing into the crowd. It’s hard to keep track of the boy, but Louis gets glimpses of him talking to another recruit, shooting quick glances Louis’ way. The snowball has started rolling.

A group of four people claim the far end of the table Louis’ at, talking animatedly to each other. One of them, a redheaded girl, turns in her seat just enough for Louis to get a glimpse of the burn mark on the back of her neck. A core member.

Louis is curious as to how one qualifies to be a part of the core Family, but more than that he finds it strange to see how content they seem to be about everything. Surely they must know about the killings, the violence. How can they be smiling when these sinister acts are occurring? 

Realizing he’s been staring, Louis looks away after making eye contact with one of the core members, a sandy-haired man around his own age. In his peripheral vision, Louis sees the man getting out of his seat, approaching. 

Louis clenches his fists in his lap once, before forcing his shoulders to relax and smiling at the cultist.

The cultist’s own smile is short, strained against his clean shaven cheeks. "Haven’t seen you around here."

"I came here last night," Louis says.

"Do you mind if I sit?" the cultist asks, gesturing. 

Louis does mind, but he won’t say that. "Go ahead."

"I’m Sam," the man says once he’s seated, reaching a hand out. 

Louis shakes his hand once. "Louis."

Sam folds his arms on the table, gazing at Louis long enough for it to be uncomfortable. "Relax."

Louis blinks, puzzled. However, he doesn’t bother asking, so he plays along and levels Sam with a calm gaze, waiting. Sam breathes steadily in and out, and after some time Louis finds himself matching the other man’s breathing. A smile starts spreading on Sam’s face so slowly it borders on disturbing, but Louis doesn’t look away.

Finally, Sam closes his eyes. "Good," he says, blinking his eyes open. 

Louis suspected the inside of the cult would be weird, however he didn’t expect to step into an alternate reality.

Louis asks, "what was that?"

"You looked so lost, sitting here all by yourself," Sam says. "Being new to a community can be scary. It’s hard to connect to people when it feels like you’re standing on the outside looking in. Believe me, I know. I just wanted you to know everyone here will accept you for you."

Louis glances over to the end of the table where the three other core members are seated. 

"That’s Trisha, Bonnie and Charlie," Sam says. "Charlie’s been in the Family the longest."

That peaks some curiosity in Louis. "How long have you been with the Family?"

Sam purses his lips, forming soundless words on his lips as he counts to himself. "Almost four years, I think. I dropped out of uni early, and felt a bit lost after that. I didn’t want my parents to know, they would have been so disappointed. So I stayed in the city until I couldn’t pay rent anymore and was kicked out. Luckily I met Duke, quite coincidentally, actually. He offered me a place to stay. That was back in Manchester, before we moved here."

When there’s a pause, Louis asks, "Duke?"

"Our leader." Sam’s got a fond smile on his face. "The Creator. He didn’t have the beard back then, but he was just as accepting and kind. He provided me with shelter and food, even clothes. I told him I would pay him back as soon as I found a job. Do you know what he said to me?"

Louis shakes his head.

"There’s no need." Sam says the words like he can’t believe they’re real. "That’s when I heard of his vision to rebuild the world from scratch. At first I thought it impossible. But as more people joined the cause, the more confident I felt about it. The thought of a group of people coming together with a unified purpose made it all seem possible. It was empowering."

Louis bites his lip. "How far along are you? In rebuilding, I mean."

"We’re almost there," Sam says, smiling. "We’ve built the foundation, we’ve started a movement. The only thing left to do is expand."

There’s a brick in Louis’ stomach, the words jarring him to the bones. He rummages his brain for an appropriate response. "Good to hear."

Sam nods once, leaning back as he’s about to leave.

"Hey," Louis says when Sam is starting to get up. "Can I ask you something?"

Sam sits back down. "Anything."

Louis ponders for a moment about how to formulate his question. "Have you ever thought about leaving?"

Sam stares, brows furrowed like Louis’ talking a foreign language.

Louis keeps his tone light when he pushes on. "Reunite with your family?"

"No." Sam sets his jaw. "I am with my Family now. That’s the whole point. When Duke took me in, he gave me a chance to start over. I’m not going to throw that away. My family, as you call it, doesn’t exist anymore. I was never their son."

Louis has a hard time understanding how a person’s perception of reality can get so out of hand. Maybe being in a group with like-minded people pushed Sam into peer pressure. Suddenly, Louis doesn’t feel hatred towards the cult. Maybe towards the Creator – or Duke, apparently, – but to the people under his authority, he feels saddened. 

"You’re not having second thoughts, are you?" Sam asks, and the smile that was once radiating on his face is replaced by something darker. 

"No," Louis is quick to say. "I was just curious."

Sam leans in. "A tip. Don’t talk about leaving. Ever. It’s okay that you asked me now. You’re new, so I get it. But leaving is betrayal. And you don’t betray your Family."

The hypocrisy has Louis setting his jaw before giving Sam a piece of his mind. Louis nods in understanding.

And just like that, the smile is back on Sam’s face. He gets out of his seat. "Come find me anytime you like, brother. Anything you need, I’m here. Enjoy your breakfast."

Louis thanks him, or he tries to, but the words are stuck in his throat. Sam doesn’t seem to take note of it, as he rejoins the other core members. 

As time drags on, more tables fill up with cultists for breakfast. Liam comes jogging over to Louis’ table after a while, as well, and it isn’t until then that Louis realizes he’s been clenching his teeth. 

"Alright?" Liam asks, sitting down opposite Louis.

Louis’ quick to reply. "I don’t like it here. People are being so weird."

"Well, then," Liam starts. "You’re in for a treat."

Louis frowns, and opens his mouth to ask, but just then, someone howls a battle cry. Shortly after, all around him, hands pound on the tables, matching the rhythm of a heartbeat. 

Gazing forward, Louis sees Liam is doing the same, his palms thumping down on the wood in a steady beat. He gestures at Louis to do the same.

"No way," Louis says, but his voice disappears in the noise.

Another battle cry urges 150 cultists to thump down harder and faster. There’s no longer a rhythm, and Louis is near having to cover his ears against the noise, but he tries his best to endure it. After a third battle cry, the cultists drums on the table like their lives depend on it. 

And then, it’s quiet.

Louis blinks, the only sound left to be heard are birds chirping in the trees. He sends Liam a look, and the latter holds up a finger as a signal to wait. 

It doesn’t take long before Louis can hear the sound of a door opening, and he turns to see a group of people carrying trays of food exit the kitchen cabin, Niall among them. They’re welcomed with applause.

Conversations are picked up shortly after when the food is divided between the tables.

"What the fuck was that?" Louis asks.

Liam reaches for a breadbasket, offering it to Louis. "We do it before every meal. It’s how we thank the cooks for feeding us. It’s a way to motivate them. Slicing enough bread to feed a whole community is a lot of work, I guess. I don’t know," Liam shrugs, trailing off.

Louis munches on the bread, thinking about how badly he wants to roll his eyes. "Where’s the Creator?"

"He rarely eats with us," Liam says, taking a bite of his own bread. 

Louis frowns. "Why? Is he too important?"

"I don’t think so." Liam shrugs again. "He just gets a lot of attention when he first shows up. Maybe he doesn’t want to disturb our meals."

"What, people drop their jaws and go limp the minute they see him?"

Louis meant the question as a joke, but Liam nods. "Some do, yeah. Other people freeze up, and go all quiet." Liam lowers his voice, leaning forward. "I didn’t understand why before, but I do now. They’re scared of him. I still can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together."

Glancing to the end of the table, Louis wonders when Sam will put the pieces together. If he ever will.

–

Louis spends the rest of his day zeroing in on recruits that turn their gaze away from him the second they make eye contact. Louis’ learned that those are the ones he has better chances of convincing into fighting back. After filling them in on the plan, most of them end up telling Louis they’ll spread the message. The snowball keeps rolling, growing bigger and bigger, and by the end of the day as Louis walks past the sea of tents, he receives nods and looks from recruits that will join the fight. It’s the invisible start of an uprising, and anticipation makes the blood rush in Louis’ veins.

Zipping the tent open, Louis finds Liam and Niall already inside. They’re in the middle of a discussion, and it doesn’t take Louis long before he realizes they’re talking about how many recruits they’ve gotten on their side in the fight.

"Time for the next step," Louis says, crossing his legs on top of his sleeping bag. "Get footage. I need you guys to keep watch while I climb over the fence to retrieve my phone from Zayn."

Deciding that it’s best to wait until after midnight, Louis lies awake while Niall and Liam gets some sleep. When Louis can no longer hear any footsteps outside the tent, he shakes his friends awake.

Sneaking over to the fence feels much like walking across a minefield where any sound could set the alarm off. Louis attempts to mimic the stealthy way Harry usually moves.

"Okay," Louis whispers once he’s by the fence, turning to Liam and Niall. "Help me up."

Liam and Niall join their hands together as a makeshift step, lifting Louis up until he manages to grab ahold of the top of the fence. He clambers over, his movements placid, landing with both feet in soft grass on the other side.

Gazing towards the tree lines, Louis searches for Zayn. It’s too dark to see, so he doesn’t waste any more time in favor of jogging into the forest.

Zayn must have seen Louis coming, because Zayn is there the minute Louis passes the tree line.

"Hey," Zayn says, already handing Louis’ phone over. "You good?"

Louis pockets his phone. "Yeah. Gotten a lot of people on our side today."

"Good." Zayn glances over Louis’ shoulder to the hamlet. "What’s it like?"

"Strange." Louis shrugs. "I feel a bit bad for everyone. Even the core members. It’s like they’re delusional."

"They fanatics." Zayn crosses his arms. "Which is why they’re so dangerous. Even if they don’t know it yet, you’re still an external enemy to them. Don’t forget that."

The warning is like cold water to Louis’ face, and he realizes that his sympathy for the cultists is not something he can act on. If he tried to convince Sam he’s involved in a cult, the outcome wouldn’t be pretty.

"As for the footage," Zayn says, changing the subject. "Get as much as you can throughout the day tomorrow. Then, around this time, sneak into Harry’s flat and upload it. There should be a computer at the end of the hallway after you’ve climbed the staircase. When Harry and I see you entering the building, we’ll wait another ten minutes before infiltrating the hamlet."

Louis nods. "Okay."

Zayn follows Louis back to the fence to help him up, and Niall and Liam are standing on the other side waiting for him. 

"Got it?" Liam asks.

Louis pulls his phone out, flashing it. "Let’s get back in the tent before anyone sees us."

–

Getting footage the next morning is a harder task than Louis thought it would be. Even with most of the recruits behind his back, there are still core members milling about with a fierce protectiveness of their small community. Louis has to be careful.

Target practice comes around like clockwork early in the morning, but the shooting range is outside the fence, so Louis points the camera to the sea of cultists while getting the sound of bullets firing. At breakfast he films as much of the cultist’s strange ritual to show appreciation for the cooks as he can, all while holding his phone under the table with one hand, while drumming along to the beat with the other.

Between breakfast and lunch, he decides to get some footage of the cultists up in the guard towers, as well as the sniper. Before Niall goes to prepare lunch, Louis drags him into the tent to record a statement, and pulls other recruits in to do the same thing once Niall has gone.

Midway through dinner that day, something unexpected happens, and Louis carefully pulls his phone out under the table as he watches the Creator exiting the restaurant with a little army of guards trailing behind him.

The hamlet falls silent. 

The cult leader comes to a halt at the top of the stairs of the porch, only a few meters away from the nearest table. Louis’ sitting way in the back, and he scrambles his phone around under the table to get a good shot. 

"Brothers and sisters." The Creator raises his hands to the sky. "My Family, who I am so proud to be a part of. Today, our brother Micah will be rewarded for his hard work. His sacrifices and contributions to the cause have not gone unnoticed. Come, brother, and let me give you my token of appreciation."

A young man, who must be Micah, rises from his seat a few tables over, eyes the size of two moons as he approaches the Creator. Liam and Niall are sitting across from Louis, and they turn to each other with confused looks on their faces, so Louis guesses they don’t know what’s going on, either.

Micah seems almost in a trance as he nears the Creator, his body floating through the air on legs like jelly. The Creator opens his arms, embracing Micah. Louis fights off a shudder.

When the Creator pulls back, Micah turns to the assembly with tears in his eyes. He gazes at the sky before closing his eyes, a smile pulling at his lips. Louis is so busy watching Micah that he doesn’t notice the blowtorch until it’s there, presented to the Creator by one of his guards.

Nodding in gratitude, the Creator pulls a ring off of his finger before accepting an iron pincher from another guard. 

Louis looks down at his phone to make sure he still has a good shot. When he looks back up, the Creator’s got his ring between the teeth of the iron pincher, heating it up over the flame of the blowtorch. It’s not until now that Louis starts to realize what’s about to happen, and his world tilts a bit as his heart falls out of his chest.

A soft smile is playing on the Creator’s lips as he pulls the fiery ring away from the flames, steering it towards Micah. The Creator murmurs something in Micah’s ear, and at Micah’s nod, two of the Creator’s guards step forward, guiding Micah to his knees.

Louis wants to shout a warning, he wants to stop this from happening before it’s too late, but his mouth is filled with cotton.

Micah’s piercing scream is like a gunshot, and Louis feels sick watching as the young man is held by the arms while the Creator pushes glowing metal to the back of Micah’s neck for so long Louis’ starting to think he’s burning him to the bone.

Around him, cultists start drumming on the table, roaring encouragements, but the noise sounds muffled as Louis’ mind and body separate through the chaos. 

The Creator finally pulls away, and Micah goes limp against the men holding onto him. The Creator is speaking, but Louis can’t hear him, eyes glued to Micah as the latter scrambles to get to his feet. A pained smile is spilling off Micah’s lips, eyes wide and euphoric as he looks to his leader like he is a god.

Louis stops recording after that.

–

Louis, Liam and Niall have returned to their tent, all three faces pale as sheets as they sit motionless on top of their sleeping bags. Witnessing Micah’s initiation process to become a core member of the Family has left a foul taste in Louis’ mouth.

"This is all the footage we need." Louis’ own voice sounds unfamiliar as he speaks, his phone hanging limply in his hand. "It’s going to destroy them."

Niall stares at a spot on the ground. "I’m fucking nauseous."

To Louis’ left, Liam drags a hand through his hair.

Louis unlocks his phone. "It’s almost midnight."

He doesn’t have to say anything else. They all know that after midnight, Louis’ going to sneak past several armed cultists into the restaurant, climb the stairs and find a computer to upload the footage. And then hopefully, unleash hell.

Watching the digits on his screen change, Louis readies himself. 

Niall is biting his nails by the time Louis pockets his phone. "This is insane," he says. "It’s dangerous."

Louis pulls his hood up. "Wish me luck."

Before Louis can zip the tent open, Liam pulls Louis into a bone-crushing hug. "Be careful."

"I will." Louis squeezes back fiercely, and feels the weight of another body enveloping his as Niall joins in on the hug.

"Good luck," Niall says.

Pulling back, Louis takes a deep breath before exiting the tent.

The moon is round and full above him, stars speckling the sky like a million fireflies. Louis starts towards the fence, keeping his head down as he slinks along it towards the restaurant. A cultist is standing in the guard tower, back turned, overlooking the outside of the hamlet. Louis is light on his feet as he hurries past him, and ducks down behind a tree next to the restaurant’s porch.

Two cultists are guarding the entrance, sharing a cigarette with rifles hanging from their shoulders. Louis glances back at the cultist up in the guard tower before directing his gaze at the ground, picking up a rock the size of a golf ball.

Holding his breath, Louis crouches closer to the stairs, still out of sight. His eyes wander past the guards towards a potted plant at the other end of the porch. That’s his target.

With a steady arm, Louis pulls back before throwing the rock through the air. The rock breaks the pot on impact, and the guards both jump at the sound of glass breaking, quickly advancing towards the pot.

As soon as the guards have their backs turned, Louis rushes up the stairs and opens the front door as quietly as he can. Closing it behind himself, Louis finally relaxes his shoulders.

It’s dark inside the restaurant, the only light coming from the hallway at the top of the stairs. Louis moves towards it, climbing the stairs. He expects the steps to creak, but they don’t. Still, he moves slowly, and when he reaches the top he’s quick to plaster his body against the wall, peeking behind it.

The hallway is empty, but just then he picks up the sound of voices coming from the living room. Zayn had told Louis the computer would be through the door at the end of the hall, but Louis has to walk past the archway that leads to the living room to get there.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Louis searches for some bravery. 

His movements are snail-like as he sneaks along the wall, stopping by the archway. He peeks past the frame, seeing the Creator standing in the middle of the room talking quietly to another cultist. The Creator’s got his back turned, and he’s taller than the other man in front of him, so neither person is able to spot Louis. The coast couldn’t be any clearer, and Louis doesn’t hesitate before toeing past the archway and slipping into the room at the end of the hall, closing the door behind himself as quietly as he can.

The air is stuffy in the little office, tabletop’s dusty from not having been cleaned for a while. Zayn was right about the computer being here, sitting on top of a desk at the far end of the room. 

Louis pulls his phone out, and powers the computer on. He doesn’t have a cable to connect the two devices, so instead he transfers the files via bluetooth. It takes an excruciating long time before the footage is transferred to the desktop, and Louis glances behind himself several times while waiting, paranoid the Creator is standing right behind him. He isn’t.

Once the files are transferred, Louis opens the internet browser, logging into his Facebook account. He suspects the footage will spread faster that way. 

Louis drags the footage into a post, quickly typing out a description about what is happening, where he is and an encouragement to make people share his post. He stares at the percentage as the files are being uploaded, and posts it as soon as it hits a hundred.

It’s out. Now all that’s left is to wait for backup.

An explosion coming from outside makes Louis jump, and he spins his head towards the commotion. Moving to the window, he sees the gate has been blown open, and through the smoke he spots Harry and Zayn running into the hamlet with their weapons raised.

As Louis watch as people emerge from their tents outside, someone speaks up behind him. "What have you done?"

Louis spins around, and back up against the wall quickly when he spots the gun pointed at him. 

He drags his eyes away from the barrel in favor of meeting the Creator’s gaze. "Stopping you."

The Creator’s smile is sinister, and his glare could freeze hell. "I thought we were a Family."

"We never were," Louis says, and before he can stop himself, he continues, "you should have killed me when you had the chance, Duke."

Duke cocks his head to the side at the sound of his own name, smile faltering for only a moment before he plasters it back on. "There’s still plenty of time for that."

Instead of pulling the trigger, Duke spins the weapon around in his hand before thumping it to the side of Louis’ head. 

Louis doesn’t fall to his knees, but it’s a near thing as he scrambles against the windowsill to keep himself upright. The second blow hits Louis on the other side of his face, and this time he does fall to the ground. 

Spitting blood onto the carpet, Louis glares up at Duke for only a moment before getting a boot to his ribs. Something cracks, but Louis doesn’t waste time acknowledging it.

"You know what," Duke says, grabbing a fistful of Louis’ hair, forcing him to look up. "I shouldn’t say this, but I was suspicious when you first came to me. Usually I don’t judge people because of their past, but back when I first met you, you seemed awfully worried about that archer. You’re very loyal to him, aren’t you? What was his name? Harry?"

"Fuck you," Louis groans, swatting Duke’s hands away, scrambling to get back on his feet.

"You’re right," Duke says, grabbing Louis by the neck. "We should go say hi."

"No!" Louis grabs onto whatever is nearest – a bookcase – and digs his heels to the floor. The cult leader is merciless, however, and hauls Louis up and away the second Louis starts resisting.

They make it out to the hallway before Louis’ feet get back on the ground, and Louis takes advantage of that opening by shooting his elbow back, hitting Duke in the ribs. The gun clatters to the floor, but Louis doesn’t give Duke a chance to pick it back up. All those hours training with Zayn is finally paying off, and Louis doesn’t stop to think before shooting his elbow back once more, this time higher, crashing against the other man’s teeth.

Spinning around and creating some distance, Louis raises his fists. Duke throws a punch, but Louis’ been taught all the different ways he can block and and perform a countermove, so the cult leader misses Louis’ face by an inch. Louis counters by delivering a solid punch to Duke’s jaw.

There’s a jarring fire in Duke’s eyes as he wipes at his bloodied nose, smearing it into his beard. His teeth are crimson when he smiles, though he only flashes his teeth for a moment before plummeting into Louis will full force, tumbling them both to the floor.

Duke is straddling Louis, eyes crazed and filled with hatred, and Louis knows that if he doesn’t wrestle him off soon, Duke is going to throw a punch. Manoeuvring his legs, Louis flips them around until he is the one straddling the cult leader. 

A quick glance to his side tells him the gun is within reach, and he picks it up, pointing it down.

The cult leader chuckles, but Louis doesn’t understand what is funny about this. Louis focuses on getting to his feet instead, barrel steadily pointed towards the other man.

Duke’s chuckles turn borderline hysteric by the time Louis’ put some distance between them, and Louis stares at the beaten man on the floor. "Why are you laughing? Stop it."

Duke regains control for a moment to answer. "To think to have my whole world torn to pieces by someone like you. Don’t you find it hilarious?"

Louis stares.

"You’re weak," Duke taunts. "A fragment amongst million who has yet to fathom how little they truly matter. You don’t matter, no matter how hard to try to leave a mark on the world. You never will, brother. Not like I have."

Louis grips the gun tighter, setting his jaw. "I know you’ve heard stories about me," he says, throwing Duke’s words back in his face. "Some of them are true, most are not. For one, I am not weak."

A wicked grin spreads on Duke’s face before abruptly, he advances. He’s halfway off the floor when Louis pulls the trigger.

Duke howls, falling flat on his back. Horror fills his eyes as he stares down at his knee, blood seeping through the fabric of his jeans.

"Put some pressure on that," Louis says, before turning away, leaving the Creator to bleed.

Sturdy on his feet, Louis reaches the ground floor. He flicks the gun in his hand a look before quickly dismantling the ammunition like he’s seen Zayn do, and doesn’t slow his pace towards the exit as he tosses the pieces to the floor.

Pushing the door open, Louis enters chaos. Recruits are fighting cultists with bare fists, a young girl to his left is pulling scraps from the fence, several tents are on fire. Amidst the madness, Louis spots the archer with fire in his eyes. 

Harry pulls an arrow from his quiver, movements ingrained in his bones as he fires the arrow at rocket speed, impaling a core member’s thigh. The latter falls to the ground, shaking off his haze, but there’s really nothing he can do but fall unconscious.

Zayn is yelling commands at the recruits, pointing fingers as he directs them to drag unconscious cultists away from the fire. 

"Get them to the basement!" Zayn jogs past the recruits, clapping their backs in encouragement.

Just as Louis descends the stairs, a fist flies towards his face, and he blocks it just in time. Louis recognizes the cultist as Sam, the core member that’s been with the Family for four years. Sam’s eyes are filled with tears, yet he manages to look menacing at the same time. For a split second, sympathy crushes over Louis like a bucket of ice water. This community is Sam’s whole world. 

They’re both frozen, staring at each other mid-block. Louis opens his mouth, and closes it. Just as he opens it again to speak, Sam’s entire body jerks, and he falls to his knees with one of Harry’s tranquilizing arrows in his back.

Louis stares down at the man, an apology still waiting to leave his lips. Louis feels hands reaching around him, pulling him in. Wet grass and pine needles. Louis closes his eyes against Harry’s chest, breathing him in.

"You okay?" Harry asks.

Louis works his jaw. "Yeah."

There’s a hollow feeling in Louis’ chest, like he’s coming down from a high. Cultists run past them with recruits hot on their heels. A pained cry, a raging roar. A man shouting out a command to put out the fire. Harry’s breath, warm against Louis’ neck. Louis turns his head, pushing it against Harry’s chest. They’re standing in the middle of a battlefield, yet somehow, they’re shielded.

"The Creator’s up in your flat." Louis’ voice is gravelly. He pulls back, turning his head to look up at the restaurant. "We should get him to the basement with the others."

Harry reaches a hand towards Louis face, expression tight as he assesses Louis’ bruised skin. "I’ll go. Stay with Zayn."

Louis opens his mouth to argue, but Harry’s already moving. Turning his attention back to Sam, Louis decides to carry him down to the basement. Louis only debates a moment about how he’s supposed to do that, as Sam is quite heavy, but Liam shows up.

Flicking Louis’ battered state a glance, Liam presses his lips together. Louis’ grateful Liam doesn’t comment on it, and helps Louis hoist Sam up instead.

It’s dawn when the last cultist is locked behind the basement door, and Louis’ claimed a spot on the porch outside the restaurant, gazing out on the hamlet as recruits clean up the aftermath. They’ve managed to put the fire out, though a few tents and the side of one building was scorched before they got it under control.

Louis went up to Harry’s flat to check his Facebook an hour ago, and despite it being in the middle of the night, the post has been shared hundreds of times. If the police aren’t aware of what is happening in the hamlet, they will be soon.

Just to make sure the message was spread, Harry had borrowed Louis’ phone to get some statements from the cultists down in the basement, as well, along with videos of the hamlet post-battle, uploading that footage as well. 

Harry’s currently holding his mother in his arms a distance away from where Louis’ sitting, carding his fingers through her hair. She murmurs something in Harry’s ear, and Harry nods, wiping tears from his eyes.

A tuft of dark hair appears in Louis’ peripheral vision, clapping Louis on the back. It’s not harsh, yet Louis’ body jerks at the pain in his ribs.

"Woah," Niall says. "You alright?"

Louis swallows down a groan, holding his side. "A cult leader broke my ribs. Nothing major."

Niall sits down. "A cultist set fire to my tent. Nothing major about that, either."

Louis chuckles, redirecting his gaze to Harry, who is still talking to his mum. Zayn wanders over to them, giving Harry’s mum a hug before approaching Louis and Niall, a tired smile lingering on his lips.

"Louis," Zayn greets, gesturing for a hug. Louis gets to his feet, mindful of his ribs as he embraces Zayn. "You were amazing."

Pulling back, Louis smiles. "You too."

Zayn turns his attention to Niall, reaching a hand out. "You must be Louis’ mate."

"I’m Niall," Niall says, shaking Zayn’s hand. Niall points towards the public space. "That loner sitting on the bench there is Liam. It’s past his bedtime, so he might be a bit grumpy."

Chuckling, Zayn turns his attention to Liam. "I should go say hi."

Zayn mocks a salute, backing away. 

Niall leans toward Louis, whispering, "that’s boyfriend material for you right there, Lou."

Laughing hurts, but Louis can’t control it.

"What? He’s fit."

Louis controls his face, glancing over at Harry. "Someone else has caught my eye."

Niall peppers him with questions after that, demanding to know everything. It’s a good distraction from the hollowness that’s still lingering in Louis’ chest. Now that the cult is almost history, Louis is as triumphant as he is sad. He’s grateful no one else will get hurt, but he’s sad thinking about how life will be for the cultists going forward. Imagining the only life one knows to just be ripped away leaves a sour taste in Louis’ mouth. However, he knows it’s for the best. It will take time, but Sam will be alright.

"He’s coming this way," Niall says, pointing to Harry. 

Louis shoots Niall a glare. "Don’t embarrass me."

A menacing grin appears on Niall’s face, but luckily he doesn’t act on it. Instead, Niall gets to his feet, shaking Harry’s hand before making his way over to Liam and Zayn, leaving Louis and Harry to themselves.

"Hello," Harry says, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Hello." Louis pats the empty spot next to himself. 

The moment Harry is seated, Louis leans his head on the other man’s shoulder, watching the clouds turning pink before the sunrise. Louis closes his eyes, breathing in. 

"I can’t believe it’s over," Harry murmurs. "We made it."

"It’s not over yet," Louis says, and pulls away at Harry’s silence. "Hopefully there will be trials."

Harry hums. "And we’re gonna have to rebuild the hamlet. Tear down the fence, for starters."

"Then there’s the cultists." Louis’ voice turns sad. "They’re going to have to learn to adapt to the real world again."

"I think all of us do," Harry says. "But we’ll get there."

Louis gazes into Harry’s eyes, and finds himself clinging onto Harry’s words. Amidst the chaos, Harry is a safe harbour, filling Louis with both hope and excitement about the future. Louis licks his lips once before leaning in, connecting their lips.

A hand curls around the back of Louis’ neck, pulling him even closer. Louis’ own hand finds its way to Harry’s jaw, touch light as feathers.

The kiss is broken once Louis’ ears pick up a whirring coming from the sky, and he glances up at the three helicopters closing in on the hamlet. The sun is peeking over the horizon, and pink clouds are turning golden.

A smile spreads across Louis’ face at the realization that, yes, they’ll be alright. All of them.


	9. EPILOGUE: A New One Begins

Harry Styles puts his backpack down, but remains lingering by the door. His surroundings aren’t unfamiliar, as he’s spent every weekend in this flat since last summer. The kitchen looks cleaner than he’s ever seen it, however, and he suspects it’s been polished for his arrival.

Louis’ leaning against the dining table, watching Harry with a careful gaze. Behind him, the telly is muted on a football match.

"I cleaned out a few drawers for you in the bedroom," Louis says. "And some shelves in the bathroom."

Harry nods, looking around. "The shoe rack is new."

"You said I needed one, so," Louis trails of. 

Harry toes off his shoes, putting them on the rack. 

It smells like honey inside the small flat, and Harry suspects there’s a scented candle lit somewhere – one of the many candles Harry’s gifted Louis in the past year.

Louis moves from his spot to pick up Harry’s backpack, gesturing to the bedroom with a soft smile playing on his lips. "C’mon, then."

Trailing after Louis, Harry’s gaze flickers over the dozens of photographs covering the nearest wall – all taken by Louis throughout the years. Some new ones have been added over the past few months, and Harry spots more than one photo of himself. 

Entering the bedroom, Harry takes note of the sheets. They’re almost crisp under Harry’s fingertips.

Louis puts the backpack down, his smile coy. "Lottie threatened to burn all my old ones if I didn’t buy some new sheets."

"I like them," Harry says, though he doesn’t doubt Louis’ sister would go through with burning the old sheets. Harry’s met her a few times, and she’s as fierce as she is kind. A lot like Louis.

Louis looks to one of the bedside tables. "I haven’t gotten around to buying a lamp for your side yet, though. I’m thinking maybe to buy a new one for me as well, so they match."

Harry breathes a laugh. "Don’t stress about it. It’s perfect."

Louis takes a tentative step forward. Harry’s only seen Louis this shy a couple of times. Their first kiss, meeting Harry’s mum, and when Louis told Harry he loved him. 

Harry opens his arms for Louis, holding him close. 

"Thank you," Harry says, kissing the crown of Louis’ head.

Moving away from the hamlet was out of the question for Harry a few months back. He was hellbent on reclaiming his home from the cultists, and the hours spent pulling down the fence and scrubbing the restaurant raw of any footprints the cultists might have left has hardened the skin on his palms. 

Louis was there in the beginning to help out, but when the trials started, Louis was more in London. Harry can’t really blame him, as Louis spent his days seeking out cultists, helping them adapt to real life again. Louis got in contact with a psychiatrist, convincing the latter to be present during group sessions to help people coming out of a cult get back on track again.

A few months after the helicopters arrived at the hamlet, Harry was still there with his mum. In the weekends, Harry visited Louis in London. Those weekends were the only thing left in Harry’s life that didn’t give his fingers the shakes. Next to Louis, he could sleep at night.

It was Harry’s mum that finally convinced Harry to leave the hamlet behind. Even she saw how much the history of that place wore on him. Though he was stubborn about the mere thought at first, he eventually saw that it would be for the best. 

However, Harry didn’t want to move until the cult leader was convicted. He needed to know that his mum would be safe from the Creator for the rest of her life. The conviction came last week. 

Duke Pritchard was sentenced to life in prison on the offenses of forcible entry, multiple murders and false imprisonment.

Some of Duke’s men were also sent to prison on similar offenses, but their sentences weren’t as long, given they acted under the authority of the cult leader. 

Louis’ breath is soft against Harry’s neck as he speaks. "You hungry?"

"A bit," Harry says.

"Good," Louis says, pulling back. "I got us a squirrel this morning."

Harry stares.

Louis’ serious facade falls a moment later, face tearing open in glee. "I’m joking, Haz. Jesus. We’ll order a pizza."

"I knew you were joking." Despite trying to sound disgruntled, Harry can’t hide his smile. 

"Pepperoni?" Louis asks, pulling out his phone. 

"And pineapples," Harry says.

Louis rolls his eyes fondly. "You wish."

Putting his phone to his ear, Louis get on his tip toes to give Harry a quick kiss before disappearing into the living room, talking quietly on the phone. Harry stares after him, and wonders – not for the first time, – how he got so lucky.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Harry takes in his surroundings one more time. Specs of dust are flying through the air, bathing in rays of sunlight filtering through the window. Directing his gaze to the living room, Harry watches as Louis pulls dead leaves from a plant he’s been fixed on keeping alive the past few weeks, lips moving against his phone as he orders a pineapple-free pizza.

Louis meets Harry’s eyes, and his eyes crinkle as he smiles. Just like that, Harry feels content to start this new chapter in his life. 

**Author's Note:**

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> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed! You can reblog the photoset [here](https://thetommmo.tumblr.com/189270297258/tumblr_q1heevWRIo1vx3ewt) :)


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